


Crossing paths

by the_writing_owl



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Deviates From Canon, M/M, Slow Burn, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:20:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 50,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22485481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_writing_owl/pseuds/the_writing_owl
Summary: They had been living and working together for several months now, which resulted in them already having established a pleasantly predictable routine.Little did they know how much this would get changed in just a few short weeks...
Relationships: Medic & Spy (Team Fortress 2), Scout & Sniper (Team Fortress 2), Sniper/Spy (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 71
Kudos: 198





	1. A typical morning

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there!  
> I have no idea how many chapters I will wrangle out of this story, just that I am going to finish it no matter how long it takes me. I aim for one chapter per week. Since English is not my first language its bound to take up more time to get it readable. My grammar and orthography are still flawed so I would appreciate constructive criticism!

It was quite a typical morning. Given the fact he had to share his living quarters with eight other mercenaries in various states of declining sanity, actually a very pleasant thing. They had been living and working together for several months now, more than enough time for a pleasantly predictable routine to be established. And Spy liked routine. It made his job so much easier.

He knew, for example, that the young and energetic Scout would be out of bed and in the kitchen at 7:30 latest, to shovel copious amounts of various sweet breakfast foods down his throat. That in turn meant, that Spy himself certainly would not enter the kitchen before 8:00. He just couldn’t endure the boy running his overflowing mouth at this time of day, especially since he had the habit of accentuating his empty chit-chat with sweeping gestures, whether or not he was holding a loaded spoon between his fingers, or not. 

It already had been a hassle to break his old custom to reach for his Cigarette case first thing after rolling out of bed. But more so it was a dangerous thing to allow one’s body to be jittery for Nicotine, as soon as morning rises. _Non_ , the Frenchman would be enjoying his morning cigarette in peace and quiet, with his suit unsoiled - thank you very much. So he would walk into his tiny but private bathroom -hell would freeze over before he would willingly share communal showers with eight other men for the next five years - get presentable and then nothing would stop him from heading out to savor his first lungful of smoke and some warm rays of morning sun too. After that would still be enough time for his second favorite early hour addiction: Caffeine. Technically he could fix himself a cup of coffee in his own room, but getting the brew from the big pot the Engineer prepares every workday for everybody gave him a solid reason to visit the kitchen and on top of that, get a quick overview of the current mood of his colleagues - at least of those who showed up.

Spy lit another cigarette, movements deliberate and fluid. After all those hard years of training, an elegant way of movement came second nature to him. It, quite literally, was beaten into the former agent. Through the kitchen window, where his little smoking spot was located nearby, he could hear Soldier's booming voice reminding everyone, that “glorious battle” would start within the next hour. The “Ladies” should better not dare to show up late, because such shameful actions would be punished by the self declared war hero, before he would march off to resupply. The American always was the first one there, preparing his weapons, repolishing his boots or just standing at attention, ages before the Administrators would actually call to arms.

Shaking his head lightly and cherishing the last few drags, the eyes of the European slid towards the Van of their resident sharpshooter. The curtains were still drawn shut and would certainly remain that way until after hours. But the backdoor stood slightly ajar to provide some fresh air. _So the bushman had managed to fall out of bed in time today…_

Sniper peered through the small gap between the sun-bleached curtains. His french colleague was leaning against the wall, next to the main entrance of the base. While relishing the sun like a cat he was putting every volcano to shame by the amount of smoke he was producing. 

Watching the Spy idly enjoining his menthol infused cigarettes has become something of a semi voluntary pastime for Sniper while preparing his Coffee. _Well, you could just shut your damn curtains all the way, couldn’t you?_ The Aussi took a long sip and not for the first time he asked himself, if that masked man out there, who was paid to fight and die next to him day in and day out, was the same bloke, that once was hired to do the same thing but without the convenience of a respawn, that janked them back to live every time their heart had stopped beating.

How long has it been? Three years, maybe four? Back in these days it had been hard for him to keep tabs on time. Days and nights had bled together, while weeks had slipped by without him really noticing. In the beginning it had been just the odd job here and there. Killing an unfaithful spouse, getting rid of an unpleasant business partner, or placing a bullet between the eyes of a guy, who has had assaulted someone's daughter, but had managed to slip through justice’s fingers. After a while he has built up quite some reputation. A quiet freelancer, who refused to join a network, even if it could have meant more steady work. This has been his first real big contract. Big pay, big risk. Not that it had mattered at that time. He still remembers the dim back-office: A handful of men and one lone women were seated around a battered table. Every single one of them a specialist on their own and each attentively listening to the straw man, whom their real employer has had sent ahead. _Fucking hell…_ This really had been a high risk operation and it had looked like they would only have made it out alive, if everything would have went off without a hitch. But the reward had been well worth it - at least for a certain marksmen.

“… and after that, your job will be done. Easy enough, won’t you say? Any questions?” Some of them had shaken their heads, others were still processing the information just having been presented. Silence had fallen, but had been cut short by a calm voice: “Yes. I am not convinced about this blind spot of that camera here….”

Sniper had been listening to the other men and had been frowning. Not because of the statement, but of the thick accent. It was an Irish one but it had sounded fake. Yeah the phrases had been alright, the emphasis has had sounded familiar enough but something had been just… wrong? _“Come on, you know one Irishmen.”_ he had thought. The owner of the only bar in Oz Sniper had been visiting regularly in his past. One of his few close friends. _“Maybe this one is just from higher up south? … Naw ...that one is put on. No doubt about it.”_

The Aussi’s brown eyes had fixated on the other mercenary. He had been wearing a dark gray woolen ski mask, so thick that it had been obscuring his facial features beyond recognition. A Spy. _“Sneaky bastards those ones. Never showing ya a face, at least not a real one.”_ Hell, this guy could really have been anybody you would meet on the street. Sure, he had been quite tall, but not unusually built in any way. He had been slim, but neither in the lanky nor scrawny way. Normal. Average. The only thing, that had been standing out, had been the phony accent. And the distinct flavour of his cigarettes. The Australian had never smelled a Durry like that before. While the dark brown paper was burning away, the cigarette had filled the room with the lingering smell of high quality tobacco and menthol.

Back in the here and now, Sniper swallowed the last mouthful of his beverage. The drink had already cooled down in the meantime and Spy, the trigger for his mental trip into the past, had long since returned back into base. Rinsing the cup in the small sink of his Camper, the marksmen shook his head. “Naw, can’t be”, he decided. “Just impossible after how that mission had ended...”


	2. A not so typical workday

Spy skittered around the corner, his heart pounding hard against his chest and lungs burning in the desperate quest to get more oxygen in his system. He had caught a stray bullet while cloaked and had to fight his way out afterward. He was bruised and bleeding, but still alive and standing. Oh yes, -standing- sounded quite good right now. The Adrenaline had kept him in motion so far, but with the immediate danger behind him, his muscles started to ache and his vision shifted in and out of focus every few heartbeats.

For a brief moment he allowed himself to lean against the wall of the hallway. While slowly gaining back a steadier rhythm to his breathing, he made the mistake of lifting his left hand from the bullet wound in his side. The high of the chase and the pressure of his fingers had somehow held the pain at bay… until now. “Merde!” The former agents voice was just a pained hiss. He needed a Healthkit and he needed one soon. The Spy was grinding his teeth together and, swallowing back another grievousness sigh, he peeled himself away from the support in his back. If his memory served him right, there should be a First Aid Kit fairly nearby. _If I don't bleed out on the way._

A few long and agonizing minutes later, the frenchmen fell to his knees. Ignoring the shooting pain of the impact on his joints, he snapped open the little plastic box which was filled with a small array of medical equipment. Whoever has had the idea to store this things around the battlefield should be canonized! Ignoring the bandages and disinfectant, he went straight for the large syringe of Medigunfluid. Giving himself an injection had been quite irritating the first few times, but the oddness of it couldn't compare to how utterly weird and surreal the effect of the whole procedure felt. How bullets or shrapnel where just pushed out of one’s body trough regrowing flesh as well as reconnecting nerves and blood vessels. How the pain dulled down to a manageable level in mere seconds. It was not near as effective as the Medigun of course, but if you got injured in the midst of the battlefield with no Medic in sight, this was truly a godsend. In just a few minutes his major injury was taken care of, leaving behind just a few minor “scratches” and a wounded ego. He still had to deal with the aftermath of almost bleeding out, but the procedure had worked well enough for Spy to get irritated about the state of his ripped suit. Only the Doctor’s Medigun, and respawn of course, would also get rid of bloodstains and fix the fabric, while stitching a mangled body back together like it was nothing. But for now he had to live with the fact that he looked more like a bloodstained rag doll than the suave killer he was. “Ah, c’est la vie.” not worth dying for. Well, almost.

Besides, he was proud of the fact that he usually didn't kick the bucket nearly as much as his other teammates. He was not some brain dead bruiser, who relied on the respawn mechanics way to much for their own good. In his mind, the Spy was the one shining beacon of class in this dumpster fire of a team. The Frenchmen dressed the last of his injuries as well as he could and stood up again. _Ah, bad idea..._ his inner voice commented upon the short blurring of his sight. .. _better to rest for a few more minutes before I …._ The telltale sound of a scattergun being reloaded echoed down the hall _Ugh… not that too._

  
  


Sniper grinned. He has had an exceptionally good day so far. Engie had managed to royally piss off the BLU Spy early in the round, so the Snake had a real field day with his Sappers to return the favor. With the backstabber occupied, the Aussie was able to do his job with next to no distractions.

 _Case in point….._ The reverberating snap of his rifle lashed through the air and the enemy’s Demoman bit the dust for the fourth time today. “This is getting too easy, mate.”

He managed to get a few more good shots in before the sun had traveled far enough to interfere with his shooting. “Better to get going now”, he muttered to himself, cracking his knuckles to relieve some of the tension in his fingers. Not much later the hunter was ready to set up a new camp but, to his surprise, the spot has already been occupied. His own team’s Spy had perched himself on one of the crates in the corner, allowing his back to rest against the rough wooden wall and looking like, well… like a man who had fought his way through a battlefield. Sniper’s eyes glanced over the scene with professional interest. No blood on the floor nor wall, but plenty soaked into the maroon colored suit of the other mercenary. _He obviously had not fought in this room, probably came up here for a breather… must have found a healthkit on his way, breathing is way to steady for all that blood otherwise._ “Rough day?” the Aussie asked nonchalantly while shifting his weight and drawing his Kukri. Barking out a short lough, the Spy responded by flicking open his Balisong “Only business as usual, bushmen.” He stood up slowly but without a single tremble or sign of pain. “After you, mon ami.”

The marksmen nodded, closely watching the hands of his alleged teammate. The knife was not suitable for throwing, but people tend to forget that Spies also carry a pistol around.

“Right. On what did Demo insist yesterday at dinner?” he asked.  
“That every man who had the audacity to claim that Bourbon is better than Scotch should be slapped over the face with a dead fish” came back without any hesitation.  
“Passed.” Sniper nodded, lowering his weapon. “But of course. So, tell me, which favor did you asked our good Doctor a few minutes before battle today?”  
Now it was the sharpshooters turn to let out a low lough. “Got a smudge on me shooting glasses...” He, very slowly, reached into the breast pocket of his vest and produced a scarlet red handkerchief as if he really needed to convince the other further with physical proof. Nonetheless, the European gave a pleased nod “Correct.”

Sniper took a step forward, sheeting his blade. This little game was a tedious task, but better than a knife in the back. After all, the BLU’s Spy was notorious for his flawless disguises. His colleague followed suit, letting the Balisong disappear in his pocket after leading the blade in his fingers to dance with motions that where practiced thousand times before.

Spy lowered himself back on the crate. He felt almost well enough to get back out again but he was not in a hurry. His workday had been just unpleasant enough until now to justify a few more minutes of rest. His teammate didn't seem to mind. Without a word the Sniper had brought his lanky body in front of the half barricaded window, angling himself and his rifle with practiced ease. Not long after he got into position, the Aussie pulled the trigger, reloaded with stunning speed and fired again. The small smile on the Marksmen’s thin lips told Spy that he had hit his targets, which probably meant, that the other team would be alarmed and avoid open areas as good as possible for the next few minutes.

As if he has read his thoughts, Sniper straightened up and let his shoulders roll comfortable before peering down his scope again.  
“You look like utter hell”, he remarked in an light, conversational tone. “What happened?” The eyebrows of the French arched up in surprise. Normally the Bushmen wasn’t one for idle small talk during working hours… or in general, really.  
“Nothing out of the ordinary”, the masked one shrugged, “I got shot while trying to sneak into the Intelroom of the enemy base. Since the bullet did not do any remarkable damage to any of my organs or arteries, I was able to fight my way back out and got into hiding to recover.” If someone would just have listened to the tone of voice, one might assume the men would have talked about something as commonplace as a crowded bus ride to work, not a fight for life or death.  
“Hmm. Figured something like that.” The corner of Snipers Mouth suddenly twitched up again. Growing into a smirk the moment the recoil pushed his rifle back into his shoulder. “Judging from your suit you lost a fair amount of blood.” Spy pulled his face into an exaggerated grimace but managed to keep a joking undertone to his voice: “To be honest, I almost hope to get sent through respawn later. Otherwise I have to get rid of this ensemble. Which would be a shame.”  
His teammate shook his head slightly, still focusing on the battlefield, still holding on to this lopsided grin. It was this Moment that Spy noticed that this was the first time the two of them were completely alone with each other, the first conversation they held without any other of their teammates around. But it wasn't the only observation he was able to make. With his lips pulled back in this pleased expression of a job done well, the Frenchmen got a good look at his colleague’s teeth. The Australians canines where untypically pronounced and looked rather sharp. It gave the man an almost animalistic expression. Which, to be fair, was fitting for the bushmen and… _strangely enticing_ . Suddenly, Spy wished to kept the conversation going for a little longer. Just out of professional interest, of course. “Ah, but it is true, I lost enough blood back there to make me dizzy for a moment. Not a real problem in the end, of course, but it made killing the scout on my way over here even more annoying.” The hunter abandoned his scope for a quick glance down to the sitting man, seemingly muleing a though over for a few seconds. The rifle sank down into a resting position, while its owner slipped his right into the inner pocket of his vest. “There”, he simply stated while holding a granola bar under Spys nose.  
Slightly baffled the masked one took the snack out of his teammates gloved hand. “Merci.”

And with that the chit-chat faded into silence again. It was a comfortable one, only interrupted by the rustling package of the granola bar. After this surprise lunch, the former Agent decided to treat himself to a quick cigarette before heading back out into insanity. The metallic scraping sound of his lighter prompted the other man to bring his attention back to the unexpected company. Wordlessly Spy held out his cigarette case to politely offer him a smoke.  
“Naw mate, not while I am working….. Thanks though.” A few beats of silence. “But I might take you up on the offer another time.”  
He could not help it. Sniper really was curios for the taste and maybe, maybe he would even enjoy the company.


	3. A thoughtful evening

The mercenaries tried to eat their dinner together on working days. At first this hasn’t been more than an attempt to get to know each other a little. To see, who all this murderous lunatics are, you were expected to spend the next years of your life with as a team. Over time, these meetings have become much more treasured opportunities to spend some time in valued company and less a means to an end. Spy had made the conscious decision to join dinner every evening during the workweek early on. It was one of the easiest and most subtle ways to keep tabs of the going-ons at base. He chose his usual seat at the large table, plates and cutlery already in place. From the way it was set, he guessed that it was Medics doing. The German was the only one who bothered to fold the simple, over bleached paper napkins in neat triangles, before aligning the silverware. Spy wondered if the Physician joined the shared meals as often as he did out of similar reasons he himself participated: To check up on everybody _._ Not that their good doctor seemed to be overly nurturing, fussing over the team out of the pure kindness of his heart. Quite the contrary. But the Doc gave the impression to take his role seriously… and to be a creature of boundless curiosity.

“Oi Lads! Dinners ready!” Demo shouted, voice tinged by the effects of his beloved Srumpy. Like most days, dinner consisted of some heated up excuse for actual food, courtesy of their lovely employer -Reliable Excavation Demolition-. They had their choice of canned soup, canned stew, canned beans with bacon or canned vegetables. With the sole exception of soldier, who could probably live of this stuff for the rest of his life simply because it was called -a ration-, everybody hated it. No wonder that at least twice a week someone caved and cooked something more resembling a meal than this tragedy of canned awfulness, for everybody.  
To provide riots, Miss Pauling had convinced the Administrator to cut back on the tinned goods and supplement with at least some variety of fresh produce. Anything else they needed to feed themselves, the Mercenaries would buy out of their own pocket, once every two weeks or so, in the nearby town. Unfortunately, today was a -can day-.  
“It _should_ be beef stew with carrots and potatoes”, the Scot explained while ladling out the portions for everybody directly at the table.

Spy took a discrete look around. There were no real surprises. Scout already wolfed his food down, dog tags clinking against the plate as he reached for the bottle of Soda in the middle of the table, to wash down the metallic aftertaste. The boy, as always, showed an immense appetite and a lack of table manners. Soldier used some bread as a makeshift spoon, helmet so deep in his face that the steam, which collected under the brim, was condensing on his cheeks. After everybody had started to dig in, Pyro stood up to carry his plate to his own room, where he could take his mask of to eat. Before he was out the door, the arsonist gave a joyful wave to accentuate a few mumbled words. Most of them had settled that it meant something along the lines of ”Enjoy your meal”, but truth be told, it could also be a very cheery “Burn in hell you bastards” for all they knew.  
A single chair, right at the far end of the table, was vacant. _Pity, but nothing new._ Spy thought. Their resident sharpshooter was the one most often absent from shared meals, as well as for most group activities that didn´t include Poker or a bonfire and beer _._ Spy sunk his spoon into the unappealing brown mush on his plate … _and Americans turn their noses at some of our national dishes…_ listening in on the developing conversations. It did not take too long for something amusing to happen.

“Ach, I can´t take it anymore! How? How in goods name could you call _this_ bread?!” Medic exclaimed, while waving a slice of the soft, grayish bread in the air.  
“Don´t you dare insulting a good, honest loaf of AMERICAN bread at this fine AMERICAN table, you Kraut!” Soldier chimed in immediately. The German rolled his eyes pronouncedly, opening his mouth to shoot back an answer, but his seatmate was faster.  
“Doctor just saying, that bread is not .… not good enough for great American meal?” Heavy tried to conciliate.  
“Doctor does not want to start argument with Soldier _again_ , da?“  
Medic let out a sigh and waved his hands in defeat, which seemed to sooth his choleric, rocket jumping colleague.  
As soon as the latter looked away, the German rolled his eyes again and rasped a “Definitiv nicht was ich meinte …” _[Definitely not what I was saying…]_ which provoked a slight chuckle from the Frenchmen.  
“Ich kann dich gut verstehen mein Freund. Die meisten Amerikaner würden ein Stück vernünftig gebackenes Brot nicht einmal erkennen, wenn sie daran ersticken. Hast du gesehen was sie in der lokalen Bäckerei als Baguette bezeichnen?“  
 _[I know what you mean, my friend. Most Americans wouldn't recognize a piece of properly baked bread if they choked on it! Have you seen what they try to pass of as a Baguette at the local bakery?]_  
Medic nodded while trying to hold one of his high pitched laughs at a table appropriate volume.  
“Wir wären wahrscheinlich besser dran, würden wir unser Brot einfach selbst backen”  
 _[We would probably be better of, if we tried to bake it ourselves.]_  
“Sans aucun doute, mon ami.” _[Without a doubt, my friend.]_  
Both men continued their meal, which got down way easier after a good laugh.

Besides of all the downsides that a life of permanent secretiveness and danger had brought with it in the past, it also had tough him a mass amount of skills. As a Spy of his origin and time, he of course was able to speak more than one language. Next to his own, he was fluent in English as well as German and Russian. And, as he had learned quite quickly, the Doctor himself did not fell much shorter in this terms. The physician did not speak the Heavy’s native tongue but was able to understand and actively express a large amount of French. According to Medic himself, he had learned it as a child and seeing that their respective home countries where neighbors, it was not so hard to believe. Maybe not the norm for every young german boy, but common enough. It was nice. Albeit, his colleague spoke with a horrible akzent, Spy was willing to sacrifice his ears, if it meant to hear his native language at least from time to time again and it was easy to believe, that Medic felt similarly. Minus the accent thing, Spy knew that his German basically was flawless.  
It was something that had bound them together in the first few weeks. Something so simple as realizing, that the cutting comment you just mumbled under your breath, had prompted someone to give an approving huff. Spy would not consider his teams health professional as a friend. But he was someone he shared something with. Someone who could hold an interesting conversation and also navigated his life in very loose boundaries of moral. Although, there was undeniably a huge difference between the moral dilemmas a formal Agent found himself in, than a doctor who took regular trips to morgue and cemetery to get … materials.

Nonetheless, it was a wise choice to invest some effort into the Medic anyway. It could never be a mistake to have a man like him on your side. _All this records stacked away in his office...._ his inner voice remarked. _Oui… that too .. et pourtant.. just …. friendship for its own sake has his value too… even if it's just a loose one._ Another lesson he had learned the hard way.

\-----------------------------------------------------

The mercenaries used to eat their dinner together on working days and oftentimes hung out with each other afterward. Sniper took part, but to say he was a fixture at the daily evening shenanigans was a far cry from the truth. Some of his colleagues, namely Scout and Demo, had encouraged him more than once to -come out of his Van- and -join the fun- when he hadn't shown up on his own. Most of the time he had declined politely .

He knew that his demeanor was something many people have a hard time understanding. Sure enough, while he was not opposed to socialize now and again, the hunter preferred to be left alone most of the time. Back in Oz, he hasn’t minded to travel the outback for long stretches of time without crossing the path of even a single human for weeks on end. It had teached him a great amount of valuable lessons and has left him with the knowledge, that sometimes you were your own best company. He already was a private person by nature, has had cut most of his ties when he went full professional with his job, and even before had chosen to only entertain a _very_ small circle of close friends. Over time people had called him -quiet- or -reserved-, some have said he was -just a little bit of a loner- and certain individuals even have declared him -antisocial-. Sniper simply, over the course of his adult life, had run out of fucks to give. If he did not feel like putting up with people, he just didn’t.

The Aussi had flung himself on his bunk, a book in Hand and a plate containing some Toast on his stomach. He took a bite and aimlessly flipped open his reading material. Sniper has read the novel countless times, he may just turn to a random page, glimpse over the first words and knew exactly what would happen on the next few pages. It was his -thinking book-, the non smoking equivalent to a nice campfire to stare at. Something for his eyes to focus on, while his thoughts where just drifting wherever his mind would pull him.

The Marksmen was in a weird mood since the battle had ended today. Somewhere between quiet serenity with the moment and a light stung of homesickness and nostalgia. A strange mix of content and a rare feeling he could not put his finger on, but that had grown over the last hours. Since his short conversation with Spy, actually.  
The pang of realization seemed to came out of nowhere. Maybe a string of words in his book had set the gears turning, maybe he has heard a faint laughter from the base, or maybe his already impatient subconsciousness has finally decided to kick his stubborn mind into realization. Loneliness. No, it was not a soul crushing feeling of isolation or tear jerking recognition that he was deprived of simple human interaction. He just simply felt a tiny little bit … lonely.  
 _Bloody hell?_

Sniper wasn't quite able to shake the strange feeling came the next morning. He had carried his mood over the night and was more than a little irritated about it.  
“Ah, piss.” he had not taken this contract to play buddy with a bunch of contracted killers. His very simple goal had been to do his damn job, cash his monthly paycheck and to not make himself any enemies along the way. Easy.  
Still a little groggy, the marksman started to prepare his morning fix of caffeine, peaking out of his window as automatically as putting in the coffee filter. There, on the same little sunny spot like everyday, stood Spy. Rolling his wrist in a quick motion to flick his lighter open.

Sniper took his first sip. Sure, it was nice that he had managed to get along with everybody so far. _Don´t figure that anybody will pull a one eighty character wise, now that a few month have rolled around._ That should be enough. Seriously. With whom of the others should he even try to kindle something so fickle like a friendship anyway? Scout was a nice bloke but so damn energetic! Demo was fun, but sticking around that guy was a sure way to get drunk way to often and way to fiercely. Engie seemed to be full of southern hospitality, but the marksman was wary around such obviously displayed pleasantness. No, the more he thought about it, the sillier last nights realization felt. Sniper was almost able to dismiss it completely, when a reflective gleam caught his attention.  
Another cigarette was taken out of the silver metal casing, turned between long fingers in the same way Sniper liked to draw an arrow out of his quiver. Just to add a little flair. A little personality. “Ah, fuck it!” topping up his cup again, the Aussi grabbed his slouch Hat and headed outside.

He had no clue why of all people the bloody Spy had piqued his interest. But why not share a smoke with a colleague? Nothing to it. Really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. Great. Now I have to write a short story about Medic baking bread. Damn it!
> 
> Please let me know if the multi-lingual dialog (I wanted to give it a go and tried my best) is readable that way without completely ruining the flow.


	4. Swapping poisons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tagged this story as a slow burn, didn’t I ?  
> Promise to pick up the pace in the next chapter :)

Spy was engulfed in the familiar embrace of smoke filling his lounges and the morning sun casting the last traces of cold stiffness out of of his sleep tight muscles. While the warmth was slowly sinking into his bones, he allowed his eyes to close, just for a short while. Since he was forced into baths of ice water and trips into industrial walk-in-freezers while training for his profession, he came to dislike the cold a tad. To put it mildly. Ah, how he wished to just pull that damned balaclava of his head so he could feel the rays on his bare face, but alas, rules were rules. He had to wait for a reason more worth breaking them, than for such a small pleasure like this.

With the bang of Snipers van door closing shut, his eyes snapped back open.

It was uncharacteristic for the sharpshooter to head into base so early, especially since he wasn’t carrying any weapons yet. Instead he was holding on to a white mug that, as he later would notice, sported the faint outline of a koala sitting on a tree branch. To his mounting astonishment his teammate was ignoring the bases entrance and opted to instead join him, finding his place a good step away.  
“Morning.” the Aussi murmured, fixing his eyes straight ahead on his camper. While sending an unobtrusive glance over to his colleague, who had mirrored his own stance, Spy answered with a polite “Bonjour”.  
The former agent automatically tried to read him, curious about the reason that brought him here. People normally didn’t break their established routines out of the blue, except they saw a benefit in it. So, what could the other assassin need from him?  
The hat wasn’t to distracting, casting only a light shadow over his features, plus, he showed him the side where the brim was pinned up. The bigger problem laid in the fact, that Sniper seemed to wear a poker face per default, and this damned tinted aviators, which obscured his eyes. The other teams rifle swinger had the same habit, it always added some annoyance to the fight, reason being that it made it harder to predict his opponents movements. As if he guessed his thoughts again, the sharpshooter lifted his mug to take an overly long sip, hiding even more of his facial expression. But at least the caffeine seemed to loosen his tongue.  
  
“Thought I take you up on your offer of a smoke.”  
A small smile ghosted over his lips, softening the professional mask in an instant. Somehow it also served to soothe Spy’s cautious thoughts, which usually was hard to do with just a simple up pull of the lips.  
“Ah, bien sûr.” It took the former agent maybe five seconds to reach into the breast pocket of his suit jacket, pull out, open and turn the silver casing in one fluent motion, leaving it to his fellow teammate to pluck one of the cigarette out of under the clip holding them in place.  
The Aussi went for the one in the middle, taking hold of it near the end, flicking it over his fingers while pulling, so the filter ended up right where it needed to be, between the knuckles of his index and middle finger. He popped the butt between his lips and started to pad down his vest with both hands, but before he was able to find his small disposable lighter, his colleague already had flicked his own open, offering a flame. Sniper hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his slacks and bended a little forward to light the cigarette. His whole nonchalant body language spoke of a relaxed, self assured man but the French followed his profession for to long to not notice the slight hesitation before his offer was accepted, the tinge of stiffness in the others shoulders. After one deep inhale, the marksman took the butt back into his fingers, allowing the smoke to linger in his lungs for a few more seconds before exhaling.  
  
“So? What is the tar-sommeliers opinion?” Spy asked with obvious amusement. “Medium body with a crisp acidity and a satisfying smoky finish?”  
The so called expert, who had already taken another drag, huffed out a laugh, smoke spilling out of mouth and nose. His shoulders fell forward with it, shaking off the tension.  
“Didn’t know you could sample cigarettes like alcohol.” Granted, he had no fucking clue about wine tasting, but he had had a great time taste testing different whiskeys in the Pub back home. “There goes another carrier opportunity wasted for me.”  
Spy gave an honest smile of his own, he hadn’t been sure if a joke like that would land with the bushman. Somehow he was glad it did.  
“Bet it won’t ruin ya lungs any slower than any other durry,” Sniper assumed, letting go of the higher tones that humor had drawn in his speech “but I can see how the road ‘s more fun that way.”  
Taking a deep drag himself, savoring the taste he had grown so accustomed to, the European nodded. “Well said, mon ami. When murder is the daily business, one doesn’t care so much about the own mortality anymore, n'est-ce pas?”  
“Yeah. Old age doesn’t often seem to be in the cards for blokes like us. Arthritis and shooting are a bad mix. Ah, at least ya will never go hungry with this job, as long as there are two people left on earth, there will always be someone who wants another dead.”  
Sniper flicked some ash away “But don’t go spreading the gospel to the ankle biter.” Some of the ironic undertone his voice had been holding slipped away.  
“Why? Are you _that_ worried about the following generation of highly trained killers to snatch up our contracts?” It was said with an obvious layer of sarcasm.  
“Naw, but Scout’s still young enough to turn the leaf for himself. Chose a different path when this job is over.”

How interesting. The Frenchman hadn’t put his fellow professional as someone who would care about their youngest team members possible future. Regarding his choice of profession in particular. “C’est vrai… but I think the fact that every men he had to end so far, was brought back to live just moments after the fact, weights way heavier than age. Albeit, he seems to be rather delighted by smashing in skulls on a regular basis.” Picking an invisible thread of his jacket the masked one continued “How old must Scout be anyway?” as if he did not know that “Twelve years younger than us, maybe fourteen if we are generous?”

Snipers eyebrows rose over the brim of his glasses. That.. was an interesting revelation to say the least. The Aussi had always assumed that the espionage expert had a few years on him, but by the sound of it, the two must be quite close in that department. Or the Spy had simply misjudged the Australians age. Not grounded on his demeanor alone, but looks. It wouldn’t be the first time. The outback was a beautiful bride, but in times also quite a vicious one and his lifestyle in general had left lines, scares and shadows, that easily added five years to his face. On the other hand … _Naw, I bet the spook had read all our files. Would be strange if he didn’t._ It was literally in his job description.  
Not that there was much to see, he had been allowed to read his own official folder. Half of the thing was just an unreadable mess of blacked out information. Things like name, place of origin, former and recent addresses, relationship and family status, account numbers and so on, where all thoroughly obscured. But their alias regarding the new position, height, weight and the year of birth, as well as weapon specialities and some other work related experiences, were neatly printed out on paper. Nothing one wouldn’t inevitably find out over time automatically, or could really be used against them, but still … combined with something like, say, there medical records... Now, those files where something else. Blood type, former illnesses as well as residential areas and travel destinations, plus everything else Medic could possibly need to keep them alive, or to know where to send their corpses to, if he failed with this task. But those had been locked away in the infirmary and everyone had been assured, that the resident Medic of each Team was responsible to keep all information of that kind confidential. Or else they wouldn’t stay in their position, or alive.

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” the marksman finally answered, crushing the spent cigaret under the heel of his boot. Scanning the ground he noticed, that there were no other butts littering the place, so he bent down to retrieve his to dispose it later. Only when his fingers already graced the ground, he noticed, that he had given his full back to a Spy without thinking twice about it. It was a very strange recognition. Normally he immediately felt a slight tingle lingering between his shoulder blades, every time he turned away from someone. A nasty side effect of getting stabbed in the back on a daily basis for months now.  
“Ah, a true professional never leaves a trace...” Spy noted chipper, while purposely avoiding to look down at the others spine.  
Until now the window next to the European hadn’t provided any distractions. It was closed shut, Sniper had consciously checked on his way over, and let only slip a few very minor details out, but all of a sudden Sollys piercing “one-hour call” had penetrated the glass with such force, that it should have had vibrated.

“Crikey!” the Sharpshooter shook his head while straightening back up “Another reason not to join brekkie.” he added in a murmur, stuffing the trodden out butt in a vest pocket where he normally stored wrappers and other junk he had to get rid of later. It actually was a habit of his job to not leave evidence behind, and an old holdover too. You don’t just leave your garbage in the bush.  
“You see why I choose to smoke out here? Another ten minutes, then the coast should be clear.” More or less at least, their loudest and most obnoxious colleagues should be out the kitchen by then. Sniper nodded, wearing a similar facial expression like the one he had already shown yesterday. He was pondering over something.  
“In this case...” the marksman produced his own packet of cigarettes. Since he only smoked after hours and, for the most part, not even every day, the soft package had had plenty of time to get a little squashed in his pocket. Tapping it against the knuckles of his left hand, the sharpshooter shook a butt loose and, returning the courtesy, offered it to his teammate. “Not as fancy as yours but good enough to pass some time.” The Frenchman took it without hesitation, a quick scan over the tattered wrapping showed him the familiar image of a tall animal. He knew the brand.  
“Merci.” The engraved, zippo-style lighter snapped open again, this time Sniper took the offered flame way more naturally.  
“Quite a strong blend for someone I barely see smoking.” His answer was a low chuckle. “And what brand would the great espionage agent guessed me for?”

And with that the time started to flew by in a mixture of banter and smoke. It was around ten minutes before battle started, that they almost simultaneously glanced at their watches, just to exchange a disbelieving stare. They had been lost in a sort of light-hearted chatter, that was uncommon enough for both participants of the conversation. With a hasty “Shit, have to get my weapons. Guess I see ya later in resupply mate.” Sniper went running off to his camper. Spy, still slightly taken aback, stomped out his last cigarette while mumbling a disbelieving “À plus tard” and turned to head exactly there.


	5. Inconvenient realizations

It was a slow day at work, which left Spy with ample time to pester the enemy’s engineer, who he always liked to target more than other BLU´s when the battle dragged itself forward like a lame mare. The undeniable intelligence of his opponent kept it challenging and his choleric temper entertaining. But after some hours of messing with the laborer’s precious machines and trying to kill him in increasingly creative ways, the French got bored and decided on a short break.

He choose the remnants of an old wooden shack to serve as an impromptu break-room, skipping the actual door, which was only hanging on one rusty hinge, in favor of one of the sizable holes in the wall nearby. The Mercenary was well into the save territory of his own teams side of the map, so his conscious look only wandered haphazardly over the interior of the little room. He hopped onto a conspicuously dust free workbench, which just served to show how often he took a breather in here and whipped out his cigarette case, movements stalling in an instant as soon as his fingers automatically went to pull at the first butt he landed on. It wasn’t one of his.

The masked one actually needed a short moment to remember how his stock of expensive tobacco got mixed up with this much more common brand.  
He had gone lost in their banter again, way to engaged into telling a silly anecdote to light the “durry” his colleague had graciously offered him, so he had just put it away. Maybe to smoke it at their next “morning meeting” as they had jokingly started to call their get-togethers. That had been two days ago and somehow he had subconsciously withheld that cigarette, although he even had refilled that damn case in the meantime.

Mumbling a colorful curse under his breath, Spy lit the butt. Three weeks. They actually had managed to keep their friendly chats going for three weeks already. For Christs sake, they even had established a little routine around it! Almost every day, about forty five minutes before roll call, Sniper would head out to keep him company. Since their little time mishap on their first meet-up, the Australian would already carry his weapons, resting the rifle next to his spot on the wall. Spy on the other hand got into the habit of bringing his morning fix of caffeine along… and an ashtray, for convenience sake.

First they would enjoy a little silence, sipping at their respective beverages, till one of them brought up a topic. Just because they got along so surprisingly well the first time, didn’t mean that the whole scenario didn’t feel a bit awkward the first few days.  
In the beginning their talks would mostly spin around something work related, but soon enough the business talk would fade to the background and the two man may start to chat over everything and nothing. It never got to personal, of course, but soon they had inevitably learned small tidbits about each other, that started to form the picture of a personality. And this character was not necessary what everybody else on the team got to see.

The former agent for example has had learned, that their resident survival expert could actually be quite talkative, if he only wanted to be. That he favored tangy and bitter flavors over sweet ones. Taking his coffee black, preferring beer over wine and didn’t care much for sweets in general. Which also showed in his way to cook - a fact that had taken the French by surprise.

“You actually know how to cook? And I don’t just mean roasting some unfortunate critter over a bonfire?” he had asked him, disbelieve clearly showing through the syllables.  
The marksman had just shrugged “Had to learn it at some point into my adult live if I didn’t fancy starving to death, aye? I maybe would even consider cooking for the blokes every now and then, but if I have to hear the -throw another shrimp on the barbie- line one more time, I swear I'm gonna lose it.”  
“Scout?” Spy had asked sympathetically  
“Scout.” Sniper had confirmed “His -Australian accent- is the most obnoxious thing under the sun.”  
“I am not sure about that. Have you ever heard Medic speaking french?”  
It had send them both into a laughing fit and even now the supposedly stone cold assassin had to stifle a light chuckle. He had to admit, the bushman had a subtle sense of humor that resonated well with his own. _Quite charming... in a very rugged, simple way…. but nonetheless.._

Spy followed the smoke of his addiction, as he shifted a little, to sit more comfortable. It really had to be a slow day if he had time to think about his outdoor loving colleague of all things … and that tomorrow was Saturday, meaning, that they wouldn’t get the chance to meet up again until the work week started over. At least if they were holding on to their established ways.

A thin string of frustration floated through the Frenches mind, tangling itself idly around three familiar letters. _Why?_ Why was he thinking about this? Why was all this important enough to muse about, while he should actually try to do something about this stalemate instead?

His fingers tighten around the cigarettes filter he was holding a little awkwardly, pinched between his fingertips to shielding the burning end with his palm from the low wind that had picked up and, with parts of the walls missing on every side, passed through the building without much restriction. “Merde”, he murmured to the breeze that dispersed the smoke in an unsteady pattern.

 _You know damn well “why”, you imbécile._ _  
_ As if it would be something new for him to develop an interest in a man that was certainly dangerous … and his co-worker for the foreseeable future... and most possible straight.  
_Non!_ The former agent pushed himself off his seat, carelessly flinging the cigarette to the ground. He was certainly _not_ starting to develop an unwise interest in his colleague! He was surely just mistaking the slow beginnings of an unexpected friendship as a childish crush because he was, crudely but truly put, majorly underfucked. That was all! Spy crushed the remains of his still smoldering cigarette under the sole of his expensive leather shoes. _Oui ...that is all…_

The European fiddled with his cuffs, brushed some flecks of dust from his left shoulder. He remembered not having any specific plans for this weekend, maybe he could sleep in for once? Taking his time in the morning and fixing a more luxurious and time consuming breakfast. Maybe he should bust out his old moka pot that he had acquired so many years ago, back at a longer mission in Italy. Sniper would certainly appreciate the strong espresso he was able to produce with it. Surely it was way more exquisite than the brew the Aussie normally drank. Perhaps he could bring him a cup full next Monday… _As a team-building effort, naturally!_ An insignificant polite gesture, a simple show of goodwill. Something he would _definitely_ do for the Doctor, or any other member of the team, too. And now he would go back to work and stop thinking about it.

He could not stop thinking about it.

In fact, he did mess up two simple kills and got his suit retailored via the BLU Medics Bonesaw, because he was absolutely still thinking about it. _Bordel de merde! This is ridiculous!_ He had to get this out of his system, asap. So he did what every sane, reasonable adult in his situation would do. He decided to spy on Sniper till he found something off putting enough to efficiently stomp this blooming interest down.

It didn’t took long to locate his position. Spy cloaked on the foot of the ladder. It would take some time to scale it as quiet as he needed to be, but if he timed it right he should make it past the hatch and find himself a place inside the room to take cover before the watch ran out of juice. There he just had to hold still so the device could recharge, while still obscured from view through his cloak and dagger.  
When the French popped his head over the edge his plans flew out the window in no time, as he froze in place immediately. He had expected to see the tall silhouette of the sharpshooter standing by, or slouching on, a crate in front of the window. Eyes fixed on the scope and, most importantly, with his _goddamn_ hands on his _goddamn_ rifle and certainly, _certainly_ not on their _g o d d a m n_ Scout!

The two of them stood in one of the corners, half turned away from the entrance and way out of the line of site of the window. Sniper had wrapped his arms around the lean frame of their youngest Teammate. The latter had nuzzled his blond head deep into the taller ones neck. Scouts cap was laying next to his feet, which told the story of either a spontaneous or heated hug. The brim of the Aussie’s hat was crooked too, suggesting that he had leaned deep into the tight embrace at one point. It invoked a picture in Spy’s head that was potent enough to push him out of his state of startled surprise and into an emotion that was way harder to argue away. Anger.

How the hell could he, an actual agent of espionage, miss something like _that!_ How long was this going on already? And why, out of all the man in this or really in any, godforsaken place, had it to be the runner? Spy’s brain, fueled with something that most definitely was not a spontaneous burst of hot jealousy, spurted out question after question. Thoughts running a mile per hour but not in one cohesive direction but more like a flock of frantic game, that had unexpectedly got startled by a hunter.

A slight vibration against his wrist told the assassin that his cloaking device had recharged. So at least one aspect of him standing on this ladder like an absolute idiot had managed to turn out as an advantage. His trained mind shook off the embarrassing paralysis the sight in front of him had coursed, deadbolting him in place like an utter rookie. The Frenchman pulled himself out of the hatch without a single noise and took two short steps behind a beam. He could and, for his own dignity’s sake, really should just vanish, but the quiet scene in front of him carried the same gruesome fascination as a particularly horrendous car accident.  
As if on clue, the Bostonian pushed slightly back, revealing that his fingers had held fistfuls of Snipers shirt, the Hunter opened the cage his arms had formed around the younger man, lifting his hands to put them on the others shoulders. Scout looked up, tilting his head a little, and the European averted his gaze. He really didn’t need to see them exchanging even more intimacy. _Well, at least now I don’t have to worry anymore about him being interested in man._ he thought bitterly.

“Better?” the Aussies voice rolled through the room, concern clinging to the syllables. Spy’s head jerked upwards and _Oh…_ Scout’s eyes where red and puffy, his face wet from silent tears. The boy looked even younger than normal, all of his usually blatantly shown cockiness had bled out of his body language, to make room for the sort of movements that only vulnerability and a big chunk of embarrassment where able to produce. “Yeah,” the boy managed to heave out in a sigh “better.” Sniper gave the shoulders of his teammate a reassuring squeeze. His facial expression was quite neutral, with an underlying worry catching in the tenseness of his jaw and, as Spy could finally see, an awkward stiffness in the tall man's back.

“I am sorry man.” Scout padded on one of his older colleagues hands to signal that he could let go, which he did imminently, taking a step back in the process.

“Sooo, that was pretty embarrassing, huh?” the Bostonian stated whilst rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Please just … don’t tell the guys that I came up here to cry like a little bitch, ok? It’s just … fuck … I mean, you don’t get news like that on a daily, you know?”

Sniper just shook his head in an nearly invisible motion, “No shame in having feelings mate.” lifting his hands to adjust his headgear by taking it completely off for a moment, smoothing back his hair and putting the slouch hat firmly back on again. “Sometimes they get the better of you. Happens to the best of us.”

“Guess so...” the Runner was fumbling with his dogtags for a second before bending down to retrieve his cap, planting it on his head with an exaggerated twisting motion and pulling the shield of it down into his face to hide the still very present embarrassment.  
“I should head out again… Thanks Snipes … I mean, really. ... owe you one!”  
“No worries mate.”  
Scout straightened out his back and reached for his weapon. The youngster tried himself on a smile and turned on his heels “Ok! Let’s waste ‘em!” It took him approximately ten seconds to rush past Spy and slide down the ladder, the sound of his footsteps fading away quickly. The mercenary looked over to the sharpshooter, who had taken off his glasses to pinch the base of his nose as if he was starting to develop a headache, and decided that now would be a good time to take his leave as well.  
“You won’t rat the boy out? Won’t ya?”

  
The former agent froze again. _Oh mon dieu! I am really not allowed to catch a break today, non?_  
“How did you know I was here?” he asked perfectly level, his cloak falling away.  
“Third step from the top of the ladder is creaking. Made sure of that. When nobody showed up it was clear it had to be a Spook, glad it turned out it wasn’t the BLU one.”  
Spy grinned while lifting his hands to adjust his tie “Still could be exactly that.”  
“Strongly doubt it.”  
“Reasoning this because…?”  
Instead of opening his mouth again, Sniper tapped on his wrist. The French, fingers still on the knot of his tie, automatically glanced down to his own hands. His watch band was peeking out of his cuffs with a golden sheen.  
“You are wearing your cloak and dagger, noticed you putting it on in resupply this morning and judging from the little bit of movement I saw on the battlefield through my scope today, the BLU snake isn’t. Rarely uses it in general, actually.” A pleased smile was spreading on the former hunters face.  
“How very observant of you, bushman.” _Wait, was he just implying that he has … watched me in resupply? Or does he take notice of all the team’s equipment?_ _  
_ “Keeps one alive, doesn’t it?” shrugging, the Aussie leaned back against the wall where his rifle was propped against. The masked one simply nodded, not sure about what to say next, he reached for his cigarette case in a sort of displacement activity.

“So, care to tell me why you sneaked up here?”  
Ah, that question had come unsurprisingly fast, but Spy had been prepared for it. He just had to state the truth. Well, partly. “As you said yourself, there is barely any movement today. We are in the midst of the worst stalemate we had in weeks! I simply got bored.”  
This shockingly honest answer provoked a rumbling chuckle from the Aussie.  
“Aww, and there you thought you will visit little old me?”  
“Don’t get cocky now. My options where limited… I had to make do.”

Another low laugh before Sniper grabbed his rifle to quickly check on the battlefield. He could do without yet another person sneaking up here today. It was unusual for his teammates to seek him out, particularly while on duty. It wasn’t very professional to check up with him because of private matters while on the clock. But he had to admit, it was... flattering and sure as hell easier on his back then the usual visits from the enemy he got. Pity that Scout’s reason to show up was such an unpleasant one. “Thanks for not interrupting by the way. Would have been devastating for the ankle biter. It was already hard enough for him to swallow his pride anyways.”

The suit wearing mercenary waved his hand in a dismissive motion “I didn’t see why I should have and before you start to worry, no, I won’t tell anybody. If I desire to use any sort of blackmail on a Scout, it will be the BLUs’ one, not my ally.” Admittedly, he was curious about the reason that had prompted the boy to, well, -cry like a little bitch- _,_ but he would worry about this another time.

“Appreciate it.” _Oui, and because of that too._ Another wave of the hand “Ah, as you like to say, no worries.” Spy allowed himself a little huff while sinking down onto one of the apparently omnipresent crates that littered their workplace. “Anyway, I have to admit that this little scene left me quite surprised.”  
Snipers expression shifted a bit, not sure how to read the comment “Cut the boy some slack here. Isn’t like he was the first one of the blokes to break down while on duty.”  
“Pardon?”  
“You heard me.”  
“Of course I have, but I wasn’t aware that you run a daycare for mercenaries up here”  
The Sharpshooter barely managed to stifle another laugh.  
“Naw, I only see more through my scope than most of you lots are aware.”  
A pause, just for the time of two heartbeats “Hope that’s not the reason you try to spend time with me?” he had tried to hold onto his humorous tone, it had almost worked. Spy felt an uncomfortable tightness in his throat because of it.  
“Am I seriously so bad at my job that you assume I need _your_ help to get by, bushman?” _But Scout had needed his help today in a way, hadn’t he?_ Spy mused while he observed how his companion shook his head in rekindled amusement. _If a little sobbing is all it takes to get hold by him.. Non, non, non! False thing to think about now!_

“But that was not what I meant to say in the first place. I was only surprised because I didn’t peg you two as such close friends. I wasn’t aware that he is confiding in you.”  
The sniper gave this some thought before answering.

“Not sure if we can really be called that yet. Guess he trusts in me to keep my mouth shut if nothing else. Maybe he sees something in me that’s not really there?” the marksman unscoped. “So no, don’t know how it came to it but he started to be friendly with me quite early on. Just his nature I recon. Normally my demeanor puts people off for way longer.” He jerked his head a little in his coworkers direction “Case in point, aye?”  
The French huffed out a laugh. “The boy is talking about his family a lot comes dinner time. He has an almost obscene amount of brothers. Maybe you remember him of one?”  
The taller one shifted in his stance “Sure mate. Sounds right on the money.” his tone was dripping with sarcasm.  
“Oh but I am completely serious!” Spy gave an almost devilish grin. “The grumpy and reclusive but caring older brother.” he teased. “Maybe I should ask him this evening...”  
“Mate!”  
“I am joking!”  
“Sure you do, mate. Sure you do”  
Spy finally lit his cigarette and silence fell.

After a few minutes had passed in comfortable silence, he rose from his seat in one fluent motion. “I think I will take my leave, mon ami.” There was nothing to win in staying any longer, and it also might be a tad suspicious too. His answer was a short, courteous nod.  
The French had his right food already on the first rung when the marksman suddenly spoke “Spy, wait a tick.” the addressed merc escaped a tone that laid somewhere between surprised and questioning before he was able to formulate a real word. “Oui?” 

“Ehm.. it’s Poker Night today, at around 9 in the PM. Wanna join?”


	6. Raising the pot

Thick wafts of cigarette smoke were drifting through Spy’s smoking room like an overused fog effect in a cheap horror movie, while the low burning flames in his fire place where acting as the only source of light. The French had retreated into the depth of an armchair, delicately balancing a whiskey tumbler on the armrest, tilting the glass ever so slightly with the tips of his still gloved fingers. The amber liquid shone with the dance of the fire, while a single cube of ice clinked against the glass with every other movement of his hand. Somewhere in the shadows music played.  
It was a peaceful atmosphere, one in which he normally would lose any track of time, just watching the flames devour the wood and letting his thoughts drift wherever they wanted to go. And while it absolutely would be a great idea for him to think things over for a bit, tonight there was no time left for anymore musing, since he had planned to follow an invitation.

He was curious how his arrival would be received. Poker favored players who possessed a certain set of skills, and being able to quickly figuring out one’s opponents tells was without a doubt one of them. Well, turns out that most people didn’t fancy playing against a trained Spy when their own money was on the table. He assumed that this was the reason he never got invited before and he himself, despite his curiosity, had never insisted in joining one of the irregular poker nights either. Because whatever insides he could get through a friendly game of cards, he was able to learn in another way all the same. So the former agent had settled to sometimes play chess against the doctor instead and had found it to be surprisingly relaxing to strive for a victory on the checkered battleground against the German.  
Spy tilted his wrist to catch a glance on his watch: 8:50.

When he arrived in the common room, the others had already busied themselves with setting everything needed in place. Most notably, next to the cards in the middle of the table, some snacks and a big cooler full of beer that sat next to the Engineers feet.  
Judging from the chairs they would play as a group of five and he was the last one missing.  
Spy leaned against the door frame, pulling out yet another cigarette. Only God knew how his voice and lungs where still functional with the amount of tar he inhaled every day. Although, the almighty’s greatest rival in terms of recent miracle healings was determined to find out. The French had donated more tissue samples to Medic than most of the team.  
He flicked open his lighter and Sniper’s attention flew directly to the door, and because he had to move his head to fully see the new arrival, the others finally noticed their suit wearing teammate too.

“Oi Spy! Fancy seeing ya here!” Demo embellished his greeting with the raise of his bottle. “When our favorite hermit said you were joining, I thought he was pulling me leg.”  
“Thought it would be fun to see ya lose against someone else for a change”, the Aussi answered in his typical growled half whisper. But the faint smile that played between the words was for once not owed to a well placed shot.  
Spy had pushed himself away from the door and arrived behind his seat. “Gentlemen.” The European set himself down elegantly. His brows ticked up in an unspoken but friendly greeting when he met the Sharpshooters eyes for a brief moment, who was seated across from him. A bottle of beer appeared in his peripheral vision. “Care for one, partner?”  
After one brief look at the label he knew that he really didn’t, but for the sake of honoring a friendly gesture, Spy agreed anyway. “Ah, merci.” At least it was cold, if he took small sips he could nurse this pisswather disguised as beer for the whole evening.

“Can we finally start now or what?” Scout whined, leaning his chair so far back that it was only precariously balancing on two legs.  
“You know boy, patience is a virtue.” Engie popped his own bottle open, flinging the cap directly in the Bostonians direction, who caught it easily but leaned a little to far back and, if it hadn’t been for Snipers quick arm behind the back of the chair, almost had fallen over because of it.  
“Yo, Hardhat! What the hell?” The young man's voice was drowned out by the Scots bellowing laughter.  
“Still babysitting? You seriously should ask for a raise.” the French remarked quietly, hiding the movements of his mouth with the neck of his bottle, before taking a first mouthful of the dreadful beverage. Sniper rolled his eyes amicable behind his Aviators and lifted his own beer to toast his colleague. “Glad you could make it mate.”

The first two hours flew by and Spy had made himself comfortable right in the middle of the field. Knowing that with every move he made at least one pair of eyes where on him, he was careful not to win more than he was losing. Well, not much more at least. _As if I would cheat._ _Or better said, as if they would catch me.._ But since the stakes weren’t that high, he was way more entertained by watching his co-workers than the actual game anyway.  
Demos decline in soberness was still on a level more humorous than repulsive. The laborers accent had gotten thicker and thicker the more time had passed, which made his commentary even more amusing, and seeing Scout not winning a single round was an evening well spent in its own.  
And Sniper… he too seemed to be pleased with the course of the night. The Sharpshooter was sitting comfortably, shoulders relaxed, hat slightly tipped back and radiating almost the same eery confidence with cards in hand as with his rifle. Other than that he was his usual self. _Non_. Spy corrected his thoughts. _His usual self when around_ _the others…_

Almost every word spoken by the hunter was either linked to the game or a response to a direct question and for all of his skill in the game, he hardly got any attention. It was fascinating to watch.  
The Australian was midst of his peers, laughing at their jokes, passing dishes containing stale chips and casually winning more than half of the rounds, seemingly without anyone taking too much notice. Save for the little banter in the beginning, the tall man had faded into the background of everybody’s mind, and was apparently very comfortable with that.

“Straight!”  
“Flush.”  
“Darn it Stretch!”  
“Sorry Truckie.” The Aussi reached forward to collect his winnings, taking a sip of beer afterward and had already managed to slip out of the Engineers consciousness again for his opponent had resumed his conversation with Scout, that had been interrupted by the showdown.

“I mean sure, our doc is loose as a bucket of soot, no doubt about it, but the BLU’s is just insane! I mean, did you ever listen to that man on the battlefield? Makes a hornet look cuddly, that guy.”  
“Woah, hold on a sec! That Knucklehead operated on us while we were awake man! Fucks sake, I had one of his freaking birds in my ribcage! And he berated _me_ for not paying attention!”  
“Not gonna deny it, he does lack bedside manners …”  
“Bedside manners? Seriously Hardhat!? That loon has the morgue on speed dial! He’s batshit crazy!”

The French let out a small sound of annoyance. It was true, he knew for a fact that the German had cleaned out more than one of the next towns hospitals corpses off of its organs. But they where at least dead already. _But his counterpart at BLU…_ What he had heard about this man was disturbing, very much so actually.  
“What are you huffing about there Frenchie?”  
Spy had collected the discarded cards, bending the deck in his fingers and letting it fly between his hands without a single look.  
“You have to admit, that the outcome of the procedure was quite beneficial, while - thanks to the Medigun - it wasn’t even that painful, non?” A deliberate understatement, but he really had endured way worse for way more unpleasant reasons. “Oh, and after hearing about your little adventure, I asked our good _docteur,_ why he didn’t use anesthetics and his reasoning was logical enough.” _From a certain point of view…._ _  
_ “And that would be?” Engie cut in, tone careful, as if he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to hear the answer.  
“That it was not really necessary, thanks to his inventions and if someone had simply said something, he would have. Plus he appreciated to get immediate feedback on the procedure.”  
“Hm...”  
“And it is less boring for him, if he has somebody to talk to while operating.”  
“Less boring!?” Scout had thrown his hands up in the air, causing him to almost fall off his chair again, but before he could start rambling, the masked one gave a polite nod in the direction of the door.

“Ah, quand on parle du loup, on en voit la queue.” he greeted loud enough for Medic, who had passed the door on his way to the kitchen, to hear. The physician, who seemed to be deep in his own thoughts, stopped in his tracks and muttered “Was sprichst du von einem Wolf und seinem Schweif?” before shaking his head and fully entering the room.  
“I think the phrase in German, and actually in English too, would be, hm... Speak of the devil and he will arrive?” The assassin brought his attention back to the runner. “If I am not mistaken.”  
“Oh I see, you were talking about me?” Medic folded his arms in front of his chest, immediately locking his gaze on Scout. Spy could tell that the doctors seemingly malicious grin was actually an amused one, but he knew from experience that for the others, it wasn’t that easy to decipher.  
“Care to elaborate, Jungchen?” The color drained from the Runners face, soon matching the older mans lab coat, as he begun to stumble through a medley of incoherent sounds and words, trying to get out of that conversation as fast as humanly possible.  
“Why so flustered?” Medic asked sweetly, bending slightly forward and using the more high nuances his voice could reach. “Ach, don’t tell me he gave my work a bad reputation?” the way he turned his head to Spy let his spectacles gleam.  
“Not your work per se, mon ami.”  
“Well, if it was not my work then...”  
“I said nothing!” Scout had finally gotten his voice back and used it to shout over the others. “Absolutely nothing. Never have, never had, never will! Silent as a grave in that regard!”  
Engie, who had caught on onto the two Europeans little act, chuckled in his beer. “Son, you have a bell clapper instead of a tongue, really think the doc will believe you?”  
The youngest of the mercenaries shot the tinkerer a look of utter betrayal, now really lost for words, while medic put one hand onto the table next to the Bostonian leaning down. “You know I am open for constructive criticisms?”  
The Engineer offered the German a drink and Demo, who had opened a wide eye, put his chin onto both hands as he watched the drama unfold.  
  
“That’s your retaliation for not stripping anyone from their paycheck so far?” Sniper asked just loud enough for the Frenchman to hear. “Or did you get bored again?”  
Spy, hands still busy with the cards, looked up to see the Sharpshooters lips pulled into that lopsided grin of his, the one he had started to get quite fond of.  
“I just took advantage of a perfect opportunity, mon ami.” The former agents nimble fingers changed pace and instead of an easy riffle shuffle he busied himself with butterfly cuts. “And if I had played in earnest, I am sure it wouldn’t had taken long before _someone_ would have accused me of cheating. So I decided to rather enjoy the company, then the money.” he explained, tone easy and lips quirked in his own trademark arrogant half smile.  
“Good choice, but I didn’t know you learn how to poker in Spookschool.” the Aussie teased, completely ignoring the feisty bickering that had unfolded next to him.  
The masked one hummed: “Another form of it maybe but this,” he lifted his hands and nodded at the table at the same time, “is actually more of a hobby of mine. But it did came in handy when I had to work undercover in a Casino. Although I dealt mostly on the Blackjack table back then.”  
“Why am I not surprised?”  
The French gasped in mock offense. “Don’t tell me I am not exciting company to you anymore!”  
“Eh, just try a little harder and I might give you another chance.” The hunter couldn’t help but chuckle while his co-worker rolled his eyes.  
“I will try, bushman. De toute façon, where did you learn to play?”  
“Nothing fancy, just used to play a hand or two back in a bar in Oz. Rarely for money though, more to pass some time.”  
“Between contracts?”  
“That too.”  
“I have to admit, I am enjoying to play again, it brings back fond memories.”  
“Of your work at the Casino?”  
The former agent smirked “That too.”  
Another low chuckle “I should really watch my wallet then, huh?”  
_You would have to watch something way more interesting than money disappearing when playing cards against me.._ Spy bit his lips before the words could make it from his brain to his tongue, but some of his thoughts still managed to sneak out with the words he chose to use instead.  
“Ah, for you, mon ami, I would make an exception. You could work your dept of to me” he joked but lowered his eyes down to the cards again, seemingly because he let them into something that needed more of his attention, a pandora flourish.  
“Would you now…” something in the Australians voice had changed and it took the Spy every little bit of self control to not mess up his little card trick.

“Well said laddie!” the hollered comment was accompanied by a hearty laugh from the Scot and followed by a muffled protest from Scout. It effectively saved Spy from giving a response, by drawing both of their attention back to the rest of the table.  
Demo, who was sitting at the head of it, had leaned over and was holding the youngest Mercenary in a headlock, ruffling his hair. Medic was laughing too: “Fine, I won't press the matter any further” while the observing Texan shock his head smiling.  
“What are ya saying doc, care to join a round or two?”  
“Danke nein, I still have some work to do.”  
The Bostonian, still trapped in the demolition experts amicable grip, drew in some air. “Paperwork, Herr Scout!”

This time the marksman and the former agent joined the laughter and the game resumed shortly after.


	7. Hidden scars

„ _Would you now...“_ _  
_Nimble fingers wrapped themselves around a fresh cup of hot coffee, savoring the warmth of the liquid that seeped through the ceramic into the holding hands for a few moments, before lifting it up. The brew was stronger than he normally took it and, without any milk or sugar to soften the edges, bitterer, but in a pleasant way.  
 _„Would you now...“_ _  
_It was still early in the morning and peacefully quiet. Spy opened his cigarette case to retrieve the last nicotine fix it was holding, a smile ghosted over his lips as his fingers found the cheap disposable lighter in his pocket. He took a few long drags, before carefully balancing the cigarette on the edge of the ashtray in front of him.  
 _“Would you now...”_ _  
_After taking another sip of coffee, the French relaxed deeper into the chair, holding the cup in one hand near his chest, waiting for the caffeine to kick in. It had been a long night, one with not much sleep. He run the fingers of his left hand threw his hair and down his neck before reaching for his cigarette again.  
 _“Would you now...”_ _  
_Only three simple words. Something that could bare any meaning and yet they kept repeating in his mind. Maybe it truly was just a quip remark but for a brief moment, just the few seconds in which he almost had dropped his cards, there had been a little spark of unwise hope.  
 _Mon Dieu, what a fool I have become_ , the former agent though while grinning around the filter like a madmen. He picked the lighter up again. Just a simple, cheap thing in an appropriate bright red.

It had been way beyond midnight and Spy had let go of his cautions to start rivaling Snipers wins. Demo had gotten way too drunk to notice or care, the laborer didn’t seem to mind and Scout, having lost everything he had been willing to bet this night already, had left half an hour ago. Unsatisfied with the role of a simple onlooker.  
It was at this point that the Frenchman’s trusted lighter had run out of gas, but before he could inform the world at large about his dismay, via a colorful curse that already had been laying on his tongue, he heard a half mumbled “Heads up mate.”

His reflexes had been quicker than his conscious thinking, automatically catching the little object that had been flung across the table before even recognizing what had been thrown at him in the first place. When he twisted the little lighter over in his fingers he had looked up to meet the Aussies amused expression. “Keep it for now, don’t need it anymore tonight.”

Spy took another sip. _Well, the night is over…_ So better to bring the little tool back to his rightful owner.

\-----------------------------------

Although Sniper was used and able to run on only a few hours of sleep at a time, he normally tried to look after himself regardless, at least in the sleep and food department, knowing that it impacted his work performance negatively if he didn’t. But since he had planned to use the early hours of the day for shooting practice, he had to cut his rest short. Maybe he would be able to squeeze in a quick nap before he had to drive to town for some errands later in the day.

The shooting range was as vacant as he had expected it to be. The others hardly trained out here. The Aussi knew that Scout would sometimes run the indoor course, dragging Demo or even Pyro along for added entertainment, but the barren stretch of land that laid a good fifteen minutes of brisk walking away from the base saw not much use. Not that he had a particular problem with that.  
Wooden cutouts of various sizes, almost resembling human figures, where scattered around the vicinity at different distances and angles. Between them Sniper himself had placed a few targets suitable for the times he liked to practice his aim with arrows instead of bullets.

The former hunter dragged a folding chair plus the corresponding table out of a tiny shed and put everything up under the lonesome tree next to it. He carefully lowered the case he had brought with him atop of the latter and started to unpack. It didn’t take him long to assemble his rifle and check it over while doing so. His movements were carried by a casualness that only long years of constant repetition could bear. A few moments later the marksman took aim on one of the middle ranged targets. He had decided to mainly train standing up today, since it was the hardest way to place clean shots and a position he rarely had to use on a day to day basis.

Sniper took a deep breath. He felt the sun on his hands and a moderate breeze on his face, while the smell of dry grass filled his nose. Memories of home started to creep to the forefront of his mind.

“ _Look, don’t get frustrated, that’s a hard position to shoot at, specially for an ankle biter like yourself._

The wind picked up and Sniper adjusted accordingly. Not that it would matter too much at this distance, but at that point in his career it came as naturally as breathing.

_Ok, try this… hold out your rifle like I do, make sure that the shoulder strap hangs loosely down… Good. Now stick your arm through the opening and raise it back up and behind.. Yeah, just like that._

His index finger found the trigger, sending the bullet on its way.

_Hand back over the sling... grab the forestock again and shoulder the gun. Very good! See, the tension will steady your hold that way. Now, try again._

The recoil jerked trough his shoulders and down the spine. In a way it was like a pat on the back.

_Haha! I knew you would get it! Well done!_

His father's voice had been so different when he was younger. More lively. Or maybe it was just the way he spoke to him nowadays, that made him sound so much more caring in his memory.

Sniper let his gun sink into a resting position and shook his head.

He reloaded, scoped and fired, picking up speed after every hit and making it even more difficult by choosing to quickly switch positions between shots. From sitting to lying to standing and back on the ground into a kneel. Everything to keep his mind focused on the task at hand, but somehow he could still hear his father's comments between the gunshots.

_“Yeah, my boy is really talented with the rifle. Got a rabbit in full speed yesterday without a problem.”_

The Australian sprung up from the kneel he had took, aimed again. Hit. Next one.

_“Look, I know you like your work as a tracker and hunter, but we really need your help on the farm. There are so many things that need fixing and without a farmhand we can hardly keep up with the sheep._

Hit. He tried to keep a tally on how many of the targets needed to get switched out for newer ones at the same time .

“ _I can’t believe it! You took money to.. to..”_

The marksman brought his attention to a row of cans lined up on top of a suitable far away fence.

“ _Bloody hell! I.. I raised a crazed gunman! My own son is a killer...”_

The first can flew, then the next and the one after that. He tried to pick up even more speed.

“ _A psychopath!”_

Sniper’s thump got catched in the reload mechanism. That would give a nice bruise under his nail later but at the moment, he could barely feel it happening.

“ _A bloody disgrace!”_

The second to last can clattered to the ground. The tall man's fingers reached for another bullet while taking a few steps to the side, but only found fabric. _  
_He was out of ammo. The rifle sank down again, and with it, the Aussies head. He registered the pulsing pain in his thumb and felt how his shirt clung to his back thanks to the sweat he had worked up.

“Heads up, mate!”

Sniper turned on his heels so fast that he almost tripped over his own feet. His eyes focused on something that flew in his direction and the hand not needed to hold his gun, shot forward without him really thinking about it. With a look of absolute confusion plastered across his face, the Australian slowly began to grasp the situation. There was a small red lighter between his fingers and an almost manically grinning Spy sitting on top of his table. _Oh God._

The French looked quite comfortable. He was sitting a little leaned back, resting his right ankle atop of his left knee. His suit jacked was placed next to him, neatly folded in half, and his sleeves were rolled up to under his elbows. _For how long has he already been here?_

_\-----------------------------------_

Spy really hadn’t planned to sneak up on the Sharpshooter like that. Not this time. But his teammate was so focused on obliterating his immobile enemys, that he simply didn’t had noticed the suit wearing mercenary till he choose to draw his attention. For a short moment, the former hunter looked at him as if he had spontaneously grown a second head. It took Spy a significant amount of self control to not burst into cackling laughter.

“Sorry for startling you, mon ami. But before you murder me for this serious crime, please regard this...” he reached behind him to reveal a tall Thermos: “… I brought coffee.”

Slowly the expression on his colleagues face changed and the European was pleased to see the confusion falling into a relaxed smile. Sniper pocketed his lighter, leaned his rifle against the tree trunk and sunk down onto the chair. “Fine. I wasn’t planning on shooting moving targets today anyways.” Both men chuckled at that and Sniper felt like a weight was taken off of his shoulders.

Spy lifted the cup off the Thermos and filled it generously with the dark liquid before handing it over. “Et voilà.“  
The survival expert took a tentative sip, not knowing how hot the beverage would be. The answer was, just a level under scolding. The well rounded bitter taste danced on the side and back of his tongue and was not disguised by any sort of creamer or sugar. _Perfect._ The Aussi hummed appreciatively, sinking deeper into his seat.  
“Acceptable?” the French asked a little smug.  
“It will do.”

Spy could not help but smile at that. Leaning back on his elbows, the table was just big enough to allow him to do so, he closed his eyes and relished the breeze that rustled the leaves above them. They sat in comfortable silence for a good while, till Sniper placed his empty cup on the ground.

“So, you just came here to bring me coffee?”

“Non, I came here to bring you back your lighter. The coffee was just a small thanks for lending it to me in the first place.”

The Aussie tilted his head to get a better look at his teammate. “Appreciate it, but you didn’t have to go through the trouble.”

Spy let out a snore that shouldn’t sound appealing to anybody but was oddly … _cute_. Or at least that was the word that popped into Snipers head on hearing it.

“I think brewing a pot of coffee hardly qualifies as 'trouble'.”

“Thank you anyways.”

The former agent just shrugged. “Ah, don’t mention it. Your aim is enviable, by the way.”

“You seriously just noticed this now?” Sniper quipped, bending down to retrieve the cup. He was holding it between his fingers for a few seconds before nonchalantly reaching over for the Thermos to top it up again.

“I think this was the first time I _really_ could watch you shoot. On duty I generally only see the aftermath of your work. It's not like I am ominously lurking in the shadows behind your back while battle rages on.”

“I don’t know if I should be glad or offended at that.”

Spy straightened up again, not hiding that his lips where holding an obvious smile, he lit himself a cigarette. Fascinating enough that he was able to hold out without one since his way over to the shooting range.

“If you ask nicely, I am sure I can arrange something.”

“Ah, how sweet of you. Just leave your knife in your pocket….”

The French choked on the drag he was taking, coughing out the smoke like an asthmatic dragon.

“Oi mate. Everything alright?” Sniper moved to stand up but Spy waved him off. “I’m fine!” He managed to huff out. Sniper raised an eyebrow, pushed himself out of his chair and disappeared in the shed. A few moments later he handed the other assassin, who seemed to have caught himself in the meantime, a bottle of water.

“Merci.” The former agent unscrewed the cap with steady hands but choose to not look up to his teammate, not sure if he himself had realised the slight double entendre of his words. After a generous sip, he continued in his speech.

“Anyway. At the beginning I took some time to observe the BLU Sniper’s work before killing him. Sneaking up on that man is a nightmare. He has quite good hearing for someone who permanently fires a loud gun.” Remembering a certain creaking rung he added. “So have you.”

It stood to reason that the European picked up the conversation so fast again to conceal his embarrassment. Especially since he talked a little more rushed than usual. The Hunter either didn’t noticed or simply let him overplay his little accident without letting anything on.

“I used ear plugs in the past, to protect my hearing. Now respawn takes care of that issue. The other Sniper is a Brit, isn’t he?”

“Oui. Wales, if my ears didn’t betray me.” Suddenly the Spy’s whole body language changed, “Alright or Wha?” he started and Snipers mouth fell open. “I’m not being funny but my old bampi has steadier hands than you.”

 _Crikey…_ he knew that both Spooks where gifted imitators, but Sniper had never witnessed their own Spy doing it. How anybody was able to stretch once voice so much was a miracle to him. Encouraged by his audiences bafflement, the French decided to up the ante by peppering his performance with some of the more colorful words he had picked up.

He threw his hand up theatrically. “Twmffat! Don’t just stand there! Iesu Mawr! How often will you let me shoot you today?”

“Bloody hell. How.. I mean, just, how..?”

“Talent, mon ami.” he smirked proudly but rubbed his hand around his neck in a soothing motion. “And by wrecking my vocal cords for years with constant training. If I do this for to long or without a proper warm up, I can get hoarse for days afterward.”

The Aussi looked down at his cup, a spontaneous question had popped into his head. “Do you know how to do an Irish accent too?” The words where hanging between them and Sniper could downright feel how the French next to him had gotten stiff. He looked up and saw how this seemingly innocent question had managed to effectively wipe the smile from the others face.

“Non.” The usually pleasant voice of the suit wearing mercenary was clad in cold refusal. “Absolutely not!”

Taken aback, Sniper stammered out the only logical thing that came to mind. “Sorry mate. You are not here for my entertainment. I get it.”

“No.” Spy shook his head and sighed “No, it is not that.” His tone had softened again. “My apologies. I did not intend to snap at you like this.”

“No worries. Didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. Touchy subject?”

 _Very much so_. “Non. Only a unpleasant memory. Nothing of matter.”  
 _Merde! How unprofessional of me_. Nobody should be able to catch him off guard so easily.

“Alright.”

They fell back into silence for a while. Both drinking from their respective beverages whilst looking at suddenly particularly interesting patches on the ground.

“If you wanna talk about it...” The Sharpshooter didn’t finish his sentence. It was an open invitation.

Spy chuckled. “So your daycare is open on weekends too?” It did not fail to make Sniper laugh. “Only for special clients.”

“Hm..” long, gloved fingers twisted the water bottle around. What a ridiculous thing to offer a man that followed his line of work. As if he could really talk openly to him about anything that run even an inch under skin deep. It was simply out of the question but, to his own immense surprise, Spy heard himself answer.

“Maybe another time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since butchering several languages in this fic (Sorry again to all native speakers) is not enough. I decided to throw a completely innocent dialect under the bus too. Please resist to pick up any pitchforks or torches XD But feel free to correct me if I screwed up!


	8. Interlude

The stirring didn’t managed to wake him up this time, neither did the mumbling. He was just too exhausted from a long days work. But the screaming, dear god, his horrible, pained screams, they did.

It hadn’t happened every night in the beginning, and the scare was normally over as soon as the nightmare evaporated in the light of the flicked on lamp. But nonetheless, he had decided to bring some of his belongings over to the others apartment. To keep him company for a while, just in case.

When he had to stay up longer, to finish some paperwork for example, it had been enough to just let the doors open, so that they could hear each other if something was happening, like with a child. But soon enough the night terrors increased in frequency, got even more violent and felt way too real to be shook off with just some light and soft words. At that point, he had not only decided to permanently move in, but to share a room altogether. The bed was big enough after all.

This night was especially brutal.

His body was shaking violently, clothes and hair plastered onto his gaunt frame with a layer of cold sweat, and the tears didn’t stop to flow, even when he started to hiccup because of his unsteady breathing.  
“It’s alright… it’s alright. Everything’s alright.” he repeated over and over in a soft singsong. “You are at home and I am here. Nothing can hurt you.” Spy was holding him in a tight embrace, rubbing the others back with a steady hand. “They can’t get you here. I won’t let them.”

He could feel the younger mans racing heartbeat, the cramping hands that clenched and unclenched themselves around his arms with so much force that he would probably bruise because of it. But he would never complain. He could break his very bones if it just helped him to calm down.

After a while, the sobbing faded into shaky breathing and the panicked grip loosened to a firm hold, but Spy knew better than to withdraw at that, but continued to comfort the person he loved more than anything in this world. Only when the other started to let go by himself, the agent dared to lean back to pick up a glass of water from the nightstand.

“Do you need your medicine too?” he asked while handing over the lukewarm liquid.  
A short nod. Spy, one hand still resting on the still slightly shuddering body, like an anchor to hold him in the save reality of the now, reached for an open blister pack. Quickly counting, how many of the pills had already been taken, he pushed out one more. He needed to talk to the doctor again. They had switched to a medication that was supposed to be easier on his stomach and liver, but it didn’t help as much as the one before. Not as if it had done any miracles either…

“There you go.” he praised when handed back the empty glass “Think you can get back to sleep?”. Another nod. God, he missed hearing him speak. Nowadays, when he did use words, it was only a spiritless echo of the once vibrantly colored voice of a joyful soul. Or he screamed in a fruitless attempt to get rid of the demons chasing him.

Spy looked down at the thin figure that, not even that long ago, was a healthy, agile fighter. In body and in spirit.

His soft brown hair was still damp and clumped together from sweat, so he reached out to bring a little order into the chaos. Because at least that was something he could do. Now and in general. Making sure that he ate, at least a little every day. That he took his medicine on time and in the correct dosage. Get his clothes ready and force him to change into them, so that he wasn’t wearing his pyjamas all the time. To drag him outside for a walk, to take him to his doctor appointments, and to be there for him when nightmares robbed him off his sleep or something triggered a panic attack.

Slowly Spy sank back onto the mattress himself, pulling up the blanket. He was tired, but not in a way sleep alone would be able to fix. He knew that, but there was no time for him to recharge. At least his superiors had been understanding of their situation, allowing him more free time to get everything in order and refraining from sending him on missions outside of France for the time being. This was, of course, just an interim arrangement. Spy hated the idea of transitioning to a desk job with a burning passion, but it was the easiest solution, so he applied for one anyway.

He restrained from switching the light off, even though he preferred to rest in absolute darkness. But reaching over to the sleeping figure instead, intertwining their fingers in the feeble hope that it would be enough to prevent another bad dream to occur, at least for tonight. It had worked before. Sometimes.

Watching the chest of the younger man rise and fall in a, finally, steady pattern, he could not help but think back to all the wonderful moments the two of them had shared in the past. All the happy memories filled with laughter and their little adventures that he held so near to his heart, as well as all the pain and tears that had bound them together in a bond too strong to ever really be broken. And he dared to hope. He dared to hope that someday it could be like that again. “Sleep well.” he murmured, squeezing the cool hand lightly.

It didn’t matter. If he had to change his carrier, he would. If he had to learn to run on even less sleep than now, he would. And if he had to brutally murder every single one of those bastards only remotely responsible for what had happened, he was going to do so. If not for him, for whom then? He was his younger brother, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short “Chapter” but it didn’t felt right to mix this with some “daily shenanigans”. So it’s standing alone.


	9. Something's cooking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every dialog that is marked like this: //”This is an example“// means that the character is using a different language than English.  
> Why? Because I didn’t want you to suffer threw a passage that was made up out of three different languages. Even if it is only a short part. Ok, that’s a lie, I absolutely intended to make you suffer… but I just could not pull it off for the life of me XD There was no way in hell to get that readable. I tried. I called up Medic to strike a deal with the devil for me and it still didn’t work …. Especially since I am only fluent in one of them, semi fluent in the other and French… yeah, let’s not talk about that can of worms too much. So yeah… Enjoy ^^

The BLU Scout ran like the devil himself was on his heels, kicking up dust with every step. Loose papers, that where occasionally slipping out of the red briefcase on his back, marking the way he had taken over the battleground. After a hazardous jump, another mad dash and a short brawl with his RED counterpart, that had ended with a smashed in skull for the latter, he only had to make it over to the bridge, where his team’s Demo and Pyro should already been waiting for him to provide cover. He skittered around the corner so fast, that he had to touch down with his left hand in order to not end up face first on the ground. The runner heard the ear splitting battle cry of the enemy's Soldier behind him, followed by the explosion of the mad patriots rocket launcher. The young man gathered his strength for a final sprint, taking lightning quick changes in direction to give the enemy as much trouble for aligning a clean shot as possible. The burning sensation in his throat and chest was only on the back of his mind. Banned to the back seat of his perception by the all consuming knowledge that he made it! He did it! He could already see his teammates! He just had to carry the intelligence over the bridge and victory basically would be certain!

A sudden sharp pain in his right leg threw the Scout off balance. Before his brain could even fully register the reverberating snap of a rifle somewhere behind him, he hit the ground screaming, reflexively reaching for his mangled limb. But before he could even get his fingers to the bloody mess that had been his calf, the pain stopped as the world went black in an instant.

Sniper reloaded, scoped again, and met the grin of the BLU’s Demoman, Stickybomb Launcher at the ready, in his crosshairs.

“Ah… Piss...”  
  
The Australian, weapon in hand, scrambled to his feet and away from the window while the first missiles flew into the hallway that connected the long abandoned office on the second floor with the rundown production hall, that made up a big part of their current battlefield. He made it a few meters down the way before the shockwave hit him. The force pushed him to the ground only moments before a mixture of wood from the window frames and the wall paneling, glass and some other random materials were filling the air. Overtaken by his instincts, the hunter threw his gun to the side and curled up into a ball to shield his head and stomach from shrapnels.

Soon an eerie silence replaced the sound of detonating bombs. Or, it would have been silence, if Snipers ears weren’t ringing from the explosion.  
The tall man didn’t dare to move for a few more seconds, silently taking inventory of his body. He felt … surprisingly whole. There where a few minor scratches on his bare forearms, where his sleeves had been rolled up, and this annoying sound in his ears, but he was fairly sure that his eardrums where still intact. The marksman had fucked up his hearing more than once in this mad war, to know the difference well enough by then. Slowly he sorted his limbs, reached for his rifle and stood up. _Fucking hell, that was a close one._

Now, without the immediate threat of being blown to pieces occupying his mind, the Sharpshooter finally registered his surroundings properly. Specificity, where he had been lying.

There was one single alcove in this whole hallway, probably used as a small seating area in a time where normal people with normal jobs had occupied the facility, that had created a save little nook for him. Behind the bend, multiple large, sharp edged pieces of wood littered the floor. He could hardly believe his luck. If the Shockwave hadn’t pushed him down in this corner, he would have suffered some very painful injuries.

While he automatically checked over his rifle, Sniper let the recent events replay in his head. He hadn’t been able to place a clean shot on the BLU Scout because the little bugger had frantically changed directions while running at full speed, so he had to take him down in two steps, which in turn had given his location away to the BLU Demo, prompting that bastard to launch a whole magazine of stickies at him and then… _Wait... why…_ The Aussie shook his head and started walking, glass crunching under his boots. _Why did I feel the explosion pushing me down before I heard the missiles blowing up?_ The sharpshooter picked up his pace a little, heading down the stairs he had reached in the meantime. _Doesn’t matter …_ he had a job to do and besides, … _surely just the adrenalin messing with my memory. Should be happy to not have to run all the way from respawn to my next nest._

As a professional, he had build his success on hard work, meticulous planning and an obscene amount of patience. Something like good fortune had no place in that equation. But the last few days, Lady Luck seemed to walk next to him on the battleground.  
Small noises, that made him aware of the BLU Spy sneaking up on him. Surprisingly clear ways between his nests. And the enemy Sniper more or less completely ignoring him to focus on his other teammates instead. Sure, he still had seen respawn often enough, but all in all, his death to kill ratio had never been this good. _Yeah,_ he had to, begrudgingly, admit to himself, _a lot of luck lately._

After the sound of the marksman's footsteps had faded away, the Silhouette of a sharply dressed man flickered into existence. He pushed himself away from the wall, brushing some dust from his dark red suit. _Merde, that had been a close call._

_\------------------------------------------------------------_

A series of fast knocks startled Sniper out of his nap and almost off of his seat “Bloody hell.. what?” he grumbled only half awake. Another assault against his campers door was accompanied by the calling of a familiar voice.“Yo Snipes, you in there?!”

Damn it! He must have dozed off thanks to the painkillers Medic had given him earlier. Nobody knew why the respawn system gave some of them headaches every once in a while. The Aussie had chosen to not think about it too much.

“Hey, Snipes?!”

“Yeah, yeah! I’m here!”

“Great! I wanted to ask ya something real quick!”

A book slipped from the Australians lap down to the floor next to the sofa booth in which he had been fallen asleep in. _Bugger..._

“Give me a bloody second, will ya?”

“Sure thing pally.”

When he opened the door a minute or so later, Sniper was greeted by the wide, bucktoothed grin of his youngest colleague who immediately started talking in a pace, similar to his frantic knocking earlier. “Oh, hey! Finally! So, I was just wondering if…”, the Bostonian paused mid sentence, giving him an obvious once over before bursting into laughter. “Oh man, I didn’t wake you up, did I? What are you, ninety?”

Sniper could still feel the remnants of the headache in his temples and neck, which, combined with Scouts naturally energetic way to speak, didn’t helped his patience at the moment. “Scout, I’m groggy and armed. So maybe not the best moment to throw jabs at me.”

The runners eyes went straight to the Kukri on the others belt.

“Ehhhm, you really never take that thing off, do ya?”

A serious expression spread over the older man’s face.“Course not. It’s a little uncomfortable in the shower but you get used to it.”

Scouts mouth fell open at that.

“I’m pulling your leg mate.”

“Aw man! But seriously, you look like shit. You aren’t ill or something?”

“Naw, just nodded off while reading.”

“Oh, come _on_!”

“Scout...”

“Jeez, don’t start yelling at me now to get off your lawn or something!”

The marksman leaned his shoulder against the door frame.

“Still armed...” he reminded, voice dangerously level.

“OK, OK! Got the message!” Scout lifted his hands in defeat, but didn’t stop grinning for one second.

“Fine.” The sharpshooters stern expression faltered and he gave a small smile of his own. “So, what did you need?”

“Oh, right. I was just wondering if you plan to show up for dinner later?”

Sniper lifted an eyebrow at that.

“Come on man, don’t give me that look! You didn’t join for over a week! Plus, Heavy agreed on whipping up his famous ‘bear’-stew, you don’t wanna miss that.”

The Aussie let out a sigh. “For how long did you pester the poor bloke?”

“Eh, only two or three days.”

Another low sigh “Fine, I’m coming.”

“Awesome!”

“Sure. See ya mate!” Sniper lifted his hand in a single, short wave, already turning away, when he heard the other speak up again.

“Huh, maybe there’s really coming something good from you spending so much time with the Frenchie.”

The hunter turned back around again, unable to suppress the bafflement in his expression.

“What do you mean?”

“Just wondering... Never got you to agree so quickly, if at all. I didn’t try anything new, and it’s hard to miss that you hang around with Mr. fancy pants like, all the time, lately.”

Scout finally noticed his teammate’s expression. “Hey, I won’t tell ya with who you should hang out. I’m not your Ma or nothing. Just wouldn’t have chosen the pretentious asshole, personally, but hey, I get it. Can’t be picky with the posse you get out here and Frogface might at least have some cool stories to tell. Whole secret agent stick and whatnot.”

“Yeah.” Sniper agreed tentatively while getting his face back under control. Not really knowing what he should say to that, he looked down at the young mercenary who currently was unwrapping a new pack of gum. He should leave it at that but, somehow, a very specific fact was bugging him more than it should. “While we are at the topic... I know you have a thing for nicknames, but would it kill ya to find at least one inoffensive one for Spy? Have to say, calling your teammate a shapeshiftin' rat while discussing battle tactics is not very professional.”

The runner blew a bright pink gum bubble. “Ahh, come on pal! Not you too! Hardhat is already on my case for that. Says that at least for meetings and shit I should be a little more polite to the weasley bastard.”

“Wouldn’t hurt.”

“Jeez, fine! How about, I don’t know… Suits?”

“Suits?”

“Yeah, won’t get any better then that sooo… see ya in half an hour?”

Sniper glanced at the clock next to his coffeepot. “Sounds about right.”

As soon as Scout was out of sight, the marksman shook his head a little.  
The idea of surprises did loose a lot of its charm, when you have spent most of your life as a hunter for game in the outback, or for men everywhere else. And sharing a meal with 8 other mercenaries, had the potential for a shitton of surprises. But today, he actually was fine with that.

_\-----------------------------------------------------------_

Dinner held two very welcome surprises. At least in Spy’s opinion.  
First of all, it smelled delicious. And second, for the first time in almost ten days, the chair at the end of the table was seeing some usage.

“Look what the cat dragged in!” the former agent joked while his teammate sat down. “Good to know that even you cannot resist the siren call of a proper meal, bushman.”

“Staggering, aye? I can even endure the company for it.” Sniper shot right back.

“Ah oui, I can hardly imagine your suffering at the moment. And all that, just to enjoy such a small pleasure of live. But I guess if you can’t get by on your own...” the words would have been able to carry some real bite, if it wasn’t for the undeniable warmth in his tone.

The Marksman pulled his lips into a smile that was half challenging, half fond. “That your excuse when you steal my cigarettes too?”

“Oh, please! I had to place an extra order to make up for the dent you put in my stock.”

“Mhm. I am still waiting to get that book back, by the way.”

“Soon… it is better than I anticipated.”

“Told ya so.” Sniper had taken off his glasses and was now tucking them into the breast pocket of his shirt. “Never underestimate the classics.”

Suddenly a plate appeared in front of the Frenchman.

 _„_ Ah, je vois. Qui se ressemble s'assemble…..” Medic wore a grin that nearly split his face in half. “You looked quite distracted, mein Freund. So I thought I should save you a portion before this horde of savages shovels everything on their own plates.” the doctor took the few steps to round the table and claimed his usual spot across from the former agent “Heavy had to smack Scout over the head with the spoon already.” He elaborated even further, while nodding in the Sharpshooters direction, who only sat one chair down the line.

“Sounds like I should hurry up then.” the Aussie stated simply, leaving his seat without any hurry.

Spy had to actively stop himself from looking after the other assassin, but shifting his attention to his fellow European instead. “Merci. But I was just simply waiting for the commotion to abate.”

The German tilted his head while tearing a piece off of the bread roll that had been balancing at the side of his serving. It looked a little …. interesting in shape. Certainly not what they usually got. “Like you did at Poker the other night?”

Spy fixed his gaze at the physicians eyes, estimating.“Exactly... mon ami.” he answered after a few short moments, letting his voice balance along the thin line of friendly, but warning.

Medic only chuckled at that: “If you say so.”

Slowly the other mercenaries started to fill their seats, praising the cook while gratefully digging in, and it didn’t take long for a few light hearted conversations to develop. Pyro stopped on his way out to place a few hearty claps on the giants shoulder, mumbling something incomprehensible, before heading to his room. Spy guessed that the arsonist would be back soon for the company of the others, as he did often lately.

The masked one focused his energy on the upper half of the table, where the laborer tried to explain the function of his newest project to Soldier. Emphasis on ‘tried’, but couldn’t help keeping an ear at his right. Scout, unsurprisingly, was running his mouth the whole time. Unloading a wild hodgepodge of family anecdotes on his outdoor loving colleague, who endured the runners antics with a saint like patience. Commonly Spy pitied himself for the unfortunate circumstance, that he had ended up in the place next to the Bostonian every evening. But today he used the opportunity to, silently but frequently, roll his eyes in the younger mans direction, to catch a glimpse further down the seating arrangement. When the boy stood up to get himself a second helping, the Aussie was finally able to answer a question Heavy had asked him surly ten minutes ago. The Frenchman’s attention shifted fully to the marksman. There wasn't anything strange in doing so, but it looked like Medic had just waited for it to happen: //”What is so fascinating about him?”// he asked nonchalantly between two bites. Modifying the coloring of the first few words a little, as he wasn’t used to shift from English to French so effortlessly as his fellow European did regularly.

The latter gave the physician an apologetic smile. //”I am not sure that I know what you are talking about.”//

Medic extracted a bayleaf out of the stew, slowly turning the herb between his fingers once, before delicately placing it on the side of his plate. He sank his spoon into the still steaming food, grinning. //”And I am sure that you are lying.”//

Spy felt the conversation slipping into unwelcome territory, but kept up the facade, holding onto his smile and light tone of voice. //”There is really nothing worth talking about. He isn’t of more interest to me than any other teammate.”//

The German leaned a little forward, looking over his glasses. //”Imposter.”//

//”Gossip.”// the other shot back, suppressing a groan.

//”I am a man of science. Curiosity is part of my nature.”//

//”Then be more curious about the refrigerated corpse that I _know_ is waiting for you in the infirmary.”//

//”The recently deceased only run away from me extremely rarely nowadays. But you might.”//

Chewing down another bite bought the suit wearing mercenary some time in which he decided to shut this subject of conversation down, before Medic could really sink his teeth into it.

//”No offense, but the very loose friendships I chose to cultivate are really none of your business.”//

//”Friendship?”// the German let out one of his high pitched, chackeling laughters.

//”Oh please, Spy. The way you act, I am absolutely certain that ‘friendship’ is the last thing on your mind.”//

The way he emphasized his words made the Frenchman’s ear twitch. And this time, it wasn’t the pronunciation.

//”And again....”//

It was easy enough for him to keep a neutral face and a guileless tone. He wasn’t an agent of espionage for nothing. But, as much as he normally appreciated a conversation in his native tongue, discussing this matter in his homeland’s language just felt too close and personal. It touched down onto a part of himself, that would actually like to talk this over with someone. Even with a man he knew would ask for blood samples to follow the curve of hormones over something, he would probably classify as an interesting experiment he could monitor.  
But Spy knew that this could not happen. That there should not be something worth discussing over in the first place. So, to keep a better emotional distance, he switched to German mid sentence.  
//”...I have no idea what you are talking about.”//

The doctor followed suit, transitioning way easier between the languages than before.  
//”Don’t try to tell me, that the little morning ritual you two came up with is purely platonic in nature?”//

//”Says the man who stems from a culture, that celebrates daily breaks for coffee and chatter like it’s a sacred affair.”//

//”Ah yes, and I am surely misinterpreting you two bickering like an old married couple, for shameless flirting than simple, harmless banter?”//

//”That? Flirting? _Dear God_ , you Germans!”//

Medic gave him a long, taxing look, then shrugged and brought his attention back to his meal again //”Looks like I really made a fool out of myself then.”//

//”I won’t hold it against you.”// Spy felt how the muscles between his shoulder blades relaxed a little. //”But I might feel inclined to remind you what comes out of hasty drawn assumptions, the next time you make a foolish move at chess.”//

//”Hm. Speaking of a battleground of sorts, I noticed some very interesting shifts at the scoreboard and in the statistics lately.”//

The glass of water, which Spy had brought to his lips, slowly found back to the table without the man taking a single sip. _Oh no…._

//”Some of them regarding you specifically. I noticed you going after different targets then usual, sometimes with long stretches between kills, then you eliminate a few enemies in short order….”//

Spy suppressed the urge to shift in his seat, he should have known better than believing that Medic, of all people, would let him off the hook so easily.

//”… and our Sharpshooters death to kill ratio is also expectational lately. It’s almost as if ...”//

_Oh mon dieu, here we go._

//”… _a friend_ is looking out for him.”//

„What the actual hell are you two old birds jabbing on about the whole time there?” Scout piped up, drawing half the tables attention to them. “Did ya Ma never tell ya that it's rude as heck to talk in a way others around you can’t understand?”

Medic straightened up “Doctor/Patient confidentiality, but I am willing to switch back to english for the not so graphic details i wish to discuss.” He grinned, while never letting Spy out of his sight.

“Aw gross! Can't ya talk about that stuff another time maybe? Like, anytime but now, here, while others are eating?”

“I can’t believe that I am saying this,” Spy sighed a little melodramatically, but inherently thankful to jump at this very welcome distraction. “but Scout is not wrong for once.”

„Oh dear Lord!” the young runner slammed his hands down at the table, catching even the last mercenaries attention “Someone mark the calendar! Quick! Suits finally agreed with me on something!”

„Suits?“ Spy and Medic echoed almost simultaneously.

Sniper chuckled standing up “On it mate!” before heading over to the fridge where a cheap gas station calendar, depicting classic cars and lightly clad girls, was hanging. Under the unanimous laughter of his whole team, the Aussie circled the current date. “One for the history books!”

_\-----------------------------------------------------------_

Translation:

Ah, je vois. Qui se ressemble s'assemble. - Oh, I see. Birds of a feather flock together. (in meaning)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, if I haven’t miscounted, my duty roster has changed for the fifth time this year, partly of course do to the pandemic we all have to deal with lately, but it seems like my boss has finally figured something out…. for the most part. Long story short, I don’t know how well I will be able to hold onto my “I update once a week” schedule, as you might already have noticed, but I will try my best :)


	10. Biting the bullet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holy hell… is this really Chapter 10 already?  
> Well, time to shove my arm shoulder deep into the good ol’ “Sack of tropes” and look what happens when…

The slight but steady breeze, that had helped him to tolerate the heat of the day while stabbing, shooting or, in one instant, strangling his opponents to death, had grown into a quite forceful wind, that had cooled down the air to a point, where he was grateful for his jacket. Thanks to the accumulating clouds, it was already darker than it should be at this time of day, and though the Frenchman loved the rain itself, he hated the idea of spoiling his suit in the mud hole that tomorrows battleground would likely be. Spy let that thought go with an almost silent sigh, before looking down at the book he was holding, turning it over in his hands with surprising cautiousness. A simple, sturdy hardcover, clad in a light bluish-gray buckram.  
Worn down on the edges and discolored throughout, it was clear that it had seen a lot of usage, but also a lot of adoration. Sure, the sides where well-thumbed and showing their age, but there was not one dog-ear or stain in sight. He had even found a bookmark tucked away in the back. Or better said, a ticket from an observatory, that was most likely used as such. A faint but honest smile appeared on the masked one’s lips. Who would have thought, that the Aussie was fond of old crime novels? _And who would have thought, that I would grow fond of him…  
_The smile slipped away.

His short, but uncomfortable talk with Medic had just occurred yesterday. But even if not much time had passed, his mind had been occupied constantly since then nonetheless. Costing him a few hours of sleep and a little more wine than he wanted to admit, before he could finally throw himself back into work, drowning his pondering in a unique background noise of, gunfire, detonations, death cries and joyful cheers.  
Feelings where a very irritating topic to brood over in general. But it only showed his full potential as a truly bothersome inconvenience, when your day job was murder with a side of secretiveness. The mercenary let out another, this time more audible, sigh.

It wasn’t like he was in denial. His body and mind clearly wanted the same thing, but still he stubbornly tried to convince himself, that it was for different reasons anyway. Companionship and a diversion to all that lunacy they called their 9 to 5 on the one, and plain stress relief, on the other hand. Nothing more. _Nothing more…  
_He placed the fingers of his right hand on the back of his neck, squeezing lightly.  
It would be the wise choice, the rational one, to hit the breaks on this friendship before he did something immensely stupid. Not much harm done, if he let it just fizzle out at this point in time…

So why the hell was he standing in front of his goddamn camper now?

 _Bordel de merde!_ He knew it was a mistake...but knocked anyway.  
Through the cracked open window, the former agent could hear a bit of shuffling cutting threw the monotone broadcast of a news anchor. The radio was turned down a few notches before Sniper calmly asked who was there. Upon hearing the underlying watchfulness in his voice, Spy’s expression involuntarily fell into an amused grin, before answering “It’s just me bushman, so put that damn Kukri down.”  
A hearty laugh filled the camper and spilled out into the fading day, as the Aussie opened the door with a curious look on his face and an oil stained dishrag over his shoulder.  
“Crikey, I am not _that_ paranoid, you know.”  
Spy had to look up to the other man, who’s natural hight was additionally boosted by standing inside the vehicle. He had brought warm light and the homely smell of coffee and slightly burned toast with him. The French could feel how his breath was threatening to hitch and his eyes darted to the overcast sky. Good, with the threat of a storm looming in the background, he had at least a valid reason to cut the conversation short.  
“Non? Why did I hear you undo two separate locks then?”  
“Didn’t say that I wasn’t a little.” the sharpshooter relented with a shrug before leaning against the threshold with an expecting look. “So, to what do I owe the honor?”  
Spy, sticking to his plan to get this over quickly, got a short step closer and presented the book. “Merci beaucoup, for lending this to me. It was a delightful read.“  
The Aussie bent down, “No worries mate, glad you liked it.” and reached forward.  
At the exact moment he took hold of the reading material, a single raindrop fell down on the cover between their hands. Followed by a second and third one in short order. The Aussie jerked his head up, like he hadn’t noticed the weather before. “Blimey! Mate, you better come in here, it will be raining cats and dogs in no time.” Another drop landed on his tinted glasses, that he had forgotten to take off again.  
“No need to exploit your hospitality, mon ami. I am sure I can make it back to...” the former agents words where drowned out by a sudden thunder and before he knew it, the other had let go off the book and was grabbing his wrist instead, yanking him upwards. Only seconds later, the door closed behind him with a thud and Spy found himself inside of his teammates mobile home. _Well, that didn’t go quite according to plan._

Sniper had walked over to the small ‘kitchen’ area and, without turning around, the Aussie offered his colleague to fix him a cup of coffee, to which Spy agreed to automatically, before shrugging off his stupor and giving this new environment a curious look.  
Like every small place that had to offer space for many items, it was inevitably a bit stuffed, although not in a messy way. Even on the small table, that was overflowing with gun parts and cleaning utensils, was a system recognizable that brought order to the chaos. _Ah, that explains the rag over his shoulder.  
_The French took a step forward, letting his free hand glide over the backrest of the sofa booth. He placed the book onto the last free corner of the table, making sure that it wouldn’t get stained.  
A big map was pinned above the seating area, small red dots marking different countries and regions. A corkboard was fixed next to it. Chock-full with plane- and other tickets, as well as Polaroids of different landmarks, landscapes and the occasional animal.  
His attention shifted to a small tower of magazines, weighted down by a whetstone. The upmost one featured a stag looking directly at the camera, his antlers partly covering the title of the hunting magazine. An envelope was poking out between its pages, but the only thing not covered was half a PO box number, which he memorized out of habit anyways. Sadly he could not investigate further, since he heard his host throwing a spoon into the tiny sink and the scraping sound of a mug being picked up. Spy turned around, taking not even a half step forward, and found himself almost chest to chest with the Australian.

His eyes where level with the others chin and due to the sudden closeness, he could clearly feel the body heat radiating off of his teammate. Something in him noticed, that the hunters lips parted in surprise, but the distinctive smell of coffee, mixed with gunpowder, cheap cologne and a hint of leather filling his nose, effectively wiped away every other sensory impressions. And now, his breath really hitched.  
Another bang of thunder ripped threw the air outside, leaving the world still for a split second, till the almost happy sound of raindrops on the campers roof notched time forward again.

“Oi, someone forgot the limited space, aye?” the Aussie remarked, tone joking, whilst leaning back against the counter. “Don’t worry, you get used to it pretty fast”. The marksman shifted in his stance, holding out the cup of coffee he had fixed for his unexpected guest, once more. Spy took the offered beverage with a slow nod. It had the pleasant color of wet sand, thanks to a generous amount of...“You put milk in it?”  
“Eh, yes. I had to guess how much though. Hard to tell from only the color... and you never told me how you like it.”  
A memory popped in Spy’s head, prompting his lips to tick up again. He settled down at the table, elbows carefully placed between the various parts and tools on the surface.  
“It will do.”  
Sniper rolled his eyes at that. Biting back a fond grin, he slipped into the sofa booth as well, where he reached over to turn the radio up again and resumed with the task of deep cleaning his rifle.  
They fell into this comfortable sort of silence, they often shared so easily and after a few minutes, it almost seemed like Sniper had forgotten that he wasn’t alone, as he started to hum along to some of the songs. At one point, he finally took off his aviators and absentmindedly hooked them into the open collar of his shirt.

It was almost hypnotizing to watch the marksman work on his weapon of choice. Every movement was deliberate and swift, but without any real rush behind it. With the sound of the rain in the background, Spy realized how contend he was with just sitting there, a cup of coffee in his hand, watching the other work and listening to his soft humming. Without thinking twice about it, the former agent reached inside his jacket for his cigarette case, but lingered in his movement, when he noticed something. Or better said, when he noticed the absence of some things and smell.  
“You don’t smoke in here, do you?”  
Sniper didn’t look up from his task “No, not really.”  
The French let the case slide back in its resting place. It was understandable. A lot of people hated the smell of cold smoke clinging to their home. Even if they were smokers themselves.  
“I guess I will survive a few hours without nicotine.”  
“You sure about that mate?”  
“Bien sûr, if you keep the coffee coming….”  
A low chuckle shook the Aussies shoulders once. “Sure. As soon as I am done here. Few minutes.”

Spy picked up a small container, cocking his head while he tried to decipher the faded label.  
“It’s been ages since I had to fire one of these...” he mentioned offhandedly.  
The marksman slowed down a tad “You used to shoot sniper rifles?”  
“But of course. I had to handle a lot of weapons during my training, learn the absolute basics with them. Various guns, knives, you name it. Just part of the job.”  
“Must have been quite useful. I am mostly self-taught.”  
“How come?”  
Now the hunter really paused, letting the question hang in the room for a short moment. “My father wasn’t very well rounded when it came to weapons others than hunting rifles.”  
The French, who was still fiddling with the little bottle, almost dropped the container.  
They didn’t talk family or discussed other so extremely private matters with each other. Topics like that required trust. Real trust. And such a thing was rare among their kind.  
“Then he must be very proud of you.” the spy answered slowly. “Your skill as a sharpshooter is outstanding.”  
The other assassin let out a huff, looking up at his fellow professional. He wore this pondering expression on his face, Spy had grown to know well by now. It was clear that the hunter was weighing his options carefully, and while the French knew, that he was the last on this team someone in their right mind should confide in, a part of him truly wished the other would decide to do so.

“My parents really don’t care for my job. Never did.” the Aussie stated, picking up his work again at the same time. “It almost broke us as a family. They nearly lost the farm at one point, cause they didn’t want any of my ‘blood money’ and if it wasn’t for my mums legendary stubbornness, my dad and I would have stopped talking a long time ago.” Various metal parts slid together under Snipers fast working fingers. “Every phone call is like walking on eggshells,” another twist of the hand, another satisfying ‘click’, “and Smissmas ‘s an awkward endeavor, where the old man and I just try to not end up in another shouting match.” His hands were still steady, as he lifted the reassembled gun to give it a final look, but there was an underlying waver in his low voice. “I keep my calls short nowadays. Just give them a quick ring every few weeks to make sure that they are doing OK.” The mercenary wiped his hands off. “Can’t exactly tell them what I am doing here anyway, and just mentioning that I took up a five-year contract shooting blokes in the head… don’t think that that would go over well.”  
Spy shook his head. Not sure what he should say to all that, he commented with a protracted “Well, shit.”  
The Aussie gave a dry laugh “Well summarized, Spook.” pushing himself out of his seat to store his weapon away. “And don’t worry, won’t ask ya to lay out your family history next.”  
“Not? And I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to start a self-help group.”  
They looked at each other with composed, neutral expressions. Sniper set his jaw to provide his lips from twitching upward. “No thank you, have my hands full with the Daycare.”  
They managed to hold each others gaze for a few more seconds, in the background the radio gave a crackling sound thanks to the weather conditions messing with the signal, before both men fell into a freeing laughter.  
Still chuckling, Sniper run a hand threw his hair, letting his fingers rest on the side of his neck for a moment afterward. He nodded at the empty cup of his friend.  
“Another one?”

\--------------------------------

Time had flown by again, and while it was nearly midnight on a workday, the two mercenaries didn’t look as if they would like to head to bed anytime soon. In high spirits from laughter and general good company, they hadn’t even registered that it had stopped raining in the meantime.

”I admire your capacity for suffering, bushman. But how you plan to get threw that evening completely sober is beyond me.”  
The topic had landed on the fact, that Demo, Scout and Soldier had te good sense to recruit the survival expert as their driver, after deciding to go out for drinks came the next weekend.  
“Can’t you just drop them off at the bar and ...”  
“.. and what? Bail them out the next day after they got picked up by the booze bus?  
“Sounds like the perfect plan to me.”  
Sniper rolled his eyes. “I think I will manage somehow.” and gave the other man a playful bop on the shoulder. He hadn’t had to reach terribly far to do so, since by now, they were sitting right next to each other. Spy retaliated with a force less slap on the others arm.  
“We will see. Just don’t dump them for the first best ‘Sheila’ you encounter.”  
The hunter took a sip from the beer he had opened for himself and half murmured a “No danger there.”

The French got keen-eared immediately, cautiously picking his next words.  
“Your sense of camaraderie in all honor, but after a few rounds, I don’t think they would notice or care, if you disappear for a while.”  
Sniper let the liquid slush around in the bottle for a moment before answering. “No, it’s not that. I’m just way to paranoid for flings like that.”  
Spy lifted his eyebrows expectantly. The other man shrugged, turning his head to fully look at his teammate. “Just have to trust someone at a base level first, before letting them into my bed. You know how it is… You get carried away, lost in the heat and suddenly you got a knife at your throat...”  
The suit wearing mercenary’s eyes got wide for a second. “Don’t tell me that you are speaking from experience?”  
Another shrug followed by a lopsided grin. “Don’t _you,_ of all people, tell me that you don’t know what I am talking about.”  
“Please, I am a spy, not a savage! I would kill them afterward.” There was a beat of silence before he added. “If I would play such classless games like that.”

Now it was Sniper who tilted his head in interest.  
“I thought being a ladies’ man came with the job?”  
Spy sight at that, waving his hand in dismay.  
“My BLU counterpart exploits his training, and some of the benefits this job brings with it, on a regular basis that way, but I never did.” he reached for his drink, encircling the warm ceramic with his long fingers.  
“Bien sûr, I know how to be charming and flirting might help you along sometimes. Getting that maid to open a hotel door for you that isn’t yours, prompting the security guard to look away from the screen...., but the art of seduction is only a good weapon if the situation fits, which it simply doesn’t most of the time. Gathering lintel is easier with money or threads than flowers, and targets are generally easier to eliminate without your trousers down. Plus… “ his fingers twitched around the mug, as he stopped himself abruptly, unbelieving about what he almost let slip out in his rambling.

Spy forced himself to look at the other man. His teammate, his.. friend. If he didn’t got clearance on this, it would always stand between them, wouldn’t it?  
He would always wonder if ‘nothing else’ couldn’t get ‘something real’. Sniper would sling his arm around him after a victorious round, or say something, or just give him that goddamn lopsided grin of his… and there would be this damned spark of hope that drove him up the walls at night.  
If he put this out in the open, Sniper would be disgusted at worse or letting him down gently at best. _Or even…_ Anyway, it would end this farce once and for all.

“Plus..” he repeated, forcing himself to adopt a light, casual tone. “I am not exactly interested in the company of women. At least not in a sexual way." There, he bit the bullet, it was done!

The former agent fixed his eyes at his teammates face, but there was not one movement in Snipers expression that betrayed his thoughts. After a few short moments, he simply smiled.  
“Wouldn’t have predicted that. But who am I to guess if a bloke likes his partners more top-heavy or not, aye?”  
His smile was a real one, his tone genuine without a trace of judgment. He really didn’t seem to care one bit. It should have been all the Frenchman should have hoped for. Now he could stop to worry. Stop to get silly ideas, or fear to get himself entangled in a stupid affair, that would only make his life harder. And on top of all that, it didn’t even seem to cost him his friendship with the Aussie.

So why did he felt like someone just shot him in the chest…


	11. Ghosts of the past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little apology beforehand: This chapter is quite a bit shorter than originally planned, since I simply didn’t trust my sleep deprived brain to do more tonight. But at least I wanted to “prepare the way” for the next story element, since this is something I was working towards since Chapter one (which I reread yesterday and… oh boy… I have to rework that sometime soon….). I hope you enjoy this nonetheless. Stay healthy everyone!

Spy was standing in front of his unlit fireplace, glaring down at an innocent looking envelope as if it just had insulted his mother.

There were only two people outside of Mann Co., who had the means to get a message directly through to him. And although he trusted both of them with his live, he really would have preferred to never hear from the female part of that duo ever again. Because, whatever hid itself inside the ivory colored casing, could only be bad news.

After a few more seconds of useless pondering, he ripped open the unwelcome surprise, retrieving a thin file that effortlessly slid into his waiting hand. A grainy, black and white photograph was pinned onto it. Judging from the quality, it had likely been taken from some CCTV footage: Cropped and enhanced to show the upper body and face of a man in his early forties. Spy turned over the picture, revealing a sole line of handwriting. The small, precisely set characters formed a single, short sentence.  
  
-You missed one.-  
  
The former agents lips contorted into a smile. His old boss always had tended to be the direct type.

\--------------------------------------------

It was getting late and, after chain-smoking for hours, his cigarette case had become empty.

Spy was sifting through the contents of the file for the fourth or fifth time that night. Comparing these new findings with the folders worth of notes he already had stored in his memory, he was forced to come to a conclusion that left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth.

A little over four years ago, his brother had been captured and ‘thoroughly interrogated’ during a mission where he had posed as a freelancer, shattering more than his bones in the process. And if it hadn’t been for one of his temporary ‘colleagues’, stumbling over him by sheer luck, he wouldn’t have survived another day.

Not even eight months after his return home from the hospital, Spy had hunted down every single one of those bastards, that where even remotely involved in his siblings torment. Some of them had received a merciful bullet in the head, others haven’t been that lucky. Eventually, he had killed them all. Or at least he had thought so, but in the back of his mind, Spy always had feared, that there could be a missing piece. There have been… inconsistencies, and now he knew for sure.

Resting his forehead against the palms of his hands, the French closed his eyes. _Je suis désolée, mon frère. J'ai échoué.  
_  
He had failed.

Irritated, the former agent pushed himself out of his chair, flinging the silver case to the side in a fit of anger. He marched over to his dresser, yanked open the first drawer with way more force than necessary, and pulled out a new pack. He ripped it open and immediately stuffed a cigarette between his lips, lighting it with trembling fingers.  
  
Biting down on the filter, he slammed the drawer shut, turning his attention to his liquor cabinet instead. With one harsh grab he brought his slender fingers around the neck of a bottle containing an auspiciously shining fluid, screwing off the cap with the same wrath as he was taking drags of nicotine. The French let off his cigarette for only long enough to lift the bottle to his lips, when his movements stalled abruptly.

Slowly, carefully, the former agent put the container down again, drawing in a deliberate breath. _Non_.

This was not the way to handle his fury. Not when he was alone. The European knew all too well, what could happen, if he decided to drown this turmoil of anger and frustration in alcohol without anyone holding him back. Two gloved fingers slowly tapped against the wood of the cabinet. But it was still tempting.

The flickering headlights of a car gracing along the windowsill tore him out of his thoughts. Deciding, that every distraction was welcome at this point in the night, he took a few steps, patted once against the watch at his wrist, and slunk out through the door.

\--------------------------------------------

“Alright mate, easy does it...” Sniper reached forward to undo the seatbelt of the absolutely hammered Scot, who was currently half laying on the backseat of the dingy company car, the mercenaries had permission to use for ‘civil matters’ - like heading to the post office, grocery shopping and, apparently, chauffeuring your teammates around when they where probably intoxicated enough to bust the scale of an off-the-shelf breathalyser.

The Aussie had just successfully freed his colleague, when said drunk suddenly slung his arm around him, hugging the lanky sharpshooter to his chest.

“You’re the absolute best, laddy! A real fine fella!” he slurred, barely comprehensible, between a few scrumpy fueled burbs. Sniper didn’t know what made it harder to breath, the amicable bear hug, or the others breath, that smelled like someone had filled an old whiskey barrel with a mixture of stale beer and cider. He pressed against the broad chest of his new ‘best buddy’ in a not so subtle attempt to lean away, catching a glimpse out of the open window in the process. “Ah, bloody hell... Oi! Soldier! Stop right there!”

The hunter pushed away from the demolition expert, jumped out of the car, and grabbed the boozed up patriot, who had started to make his way toward the gate by the shoulder.

“Where do ya think you’re going?”

Soldier turned around sharpy, swaying dangerously for a moment as a result of the abrupt movement. “I am going back to that tavern, maggot! I will show these damn hippie of a bartender! This coward can’t withhold his alcohol from a real American!” he declared, waving a fist into the air. The Marksman let out a groan. “It’s an hours drive to that bar,” a very, _very_ long hours drive, as he had discovered, when you had to deal with three wasted, singing mercs “and we sure as hell are not gonna go back there now.” _Or ever._

Scout, who was leaning against the hood of the car, started to giggle like a maniac. “Ya know that it wasn’t the barkeeper that cut your drunken ass off pally, don’t ya?”

Soldier started trotting back to the others, whilst trying to comprehend this new information. It took his hazed mind the whole way to the main entrance of the base, before finally putting two and two together. Scout almost toppled over, wheezing with laughter, as the other American let out a slew of curses while the marksman just managed to growl out an “Oh for fucks sake.”, before he had to duck under the wide swing of the patriots fist.

About twenty minutes later, Sniper had somehow managed to shove Soldier and Demo into their respective quarters, leaving him exhausted and one hundred percent done with this shit.

“Jeez man, you look like my ma after her third shift of the day.” Scout announced annoyingly chipper, leaning against the wall next to the older man.

The Bostonian had been sticking to beer and soda during the night. Knowing damn well that he was the lightweight of the group, he hadn’t been feeling like waking up with a face full of marker drawings came the next morning. Looks like sometimes even he was able to learn his lesson after only one repetition. Or five.

“Pissed off and tired?” Sniper asked without any trace of humor in his voice.

“Yup.”

“Did she had to deal with a bunch of drunken loons on a regular basis by any chance?”

“Nope, just her eight boys.” a beat of silence “Well...”

“Crikey. OK, your ma wins.” the sharpshooter interrupted. “Now let’s get you to your room, aye?”

Scout let out a giggle, showing that he hadn’t sobered up as much as his steady voice let to believe. “Woah Snipes, coming on a little strong here.”

Not in the mood for banter like that, or maybe just not with this specific teammate of his, the Aussie simply let out a huff.

“What? Blonds not your type?” the boy quipped, earning another look from the hunter that, even in the dimmed down night lighting of the hallway, made absolutely clear, that he was running out of patience. “Just start walking, mate.”

Raising his hands as in surrender, the younger man pushed away from the wall: “Yeah, uhm... thanks for the escort and stuff,” and backed down the hallway, shooting finger guns at the grumpy marksman.

As Scouts door fell shut with a soft ‘click’ only moments later, Sniper let out an exhausted sigh. _Bloody hell, finally!_ He just wanted to fall into bed and never, _never_ do this again. At least not on the responsibility carrying side of the arrangement.

The Aussie took off his hat and roughly run his fingers through his hair, letting out another sigh at the pleasant pressure against his scalp. _Maybe I can nick a beer from the communal fridge on my way out.._ he thought, when the sound of a familiar voice chuckling right next to his ear made him almost jump out off his skin.

\--------------------------------------------

  
  


While surveying the startled Aussie, who was clutching his right hand over his chest, Spy realized, not without sadness and surely not for the first time, that he eventually had to stop doing this.

Not the ‘sneaking up onto an unsuspecting teammate’ - that would never get old - but to search for Snipers proximity. Since their evening in the camper, Spy had tried to occupy less of his new friends time, failing miserably at every attempt. But today was certainly not the night to exercise self-control. Even if it probably meant replacing one pain with another. It was selfish and somewhat reckless in a way, but if he wanted to get through the next hours halfway sane and sober, he needed something, or better said: ‘someone’, he could focus on. Plus, he hadn’t shown any real regards to his rational side concerning that matter so far anyway.  
  
So he had stepped right next to the marksman, letting out a soft chuckle, and deactivating his cloaking device just a moment later.

Sniper shot the other assassin a dirty look. “Mate, seriously. You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Ah, my apologies.” the French smirked, obviously not sorry at all. “Rough night?”

The Aussie tilted his head, considered the shit-eating grin of his colleague, and buried his fingers in his hair again: “Spook … please. Just don’t say it.”

Spy’s grin widened even more: “I _tried_ to warn you, bushman.“

The hunter let out a barely audible groan and rolled his eyes.

“But _of course_ you had to be stubborn.”

Sniper started to massage his temples. “Are you done?”

“Depends. Have you learned your lesson?”

Dragging his hands down over his face, the marksman gave a pained moan. “Yes. Yes, I abso- _fucking_ -lutely have!”

“Very well.” Spy nodded toward the end of the corridor, where his quarters where located. “Care for a cigarette?”


	12. Breaking down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We all know the simple truth: If things escalate, they do it quickly….

The faint clicking sound of a deadbolt sliding back into the door rippled through the room like waves in a pond. The light was dim and the air held the smell of wood polish, expensive carpets, and smoke. When Spy pushed open the door to his haven, the cold, bluish light of the corridor struck a rectangular wound in the sanctuary that soon was broken by the shadow of a tall man walking over the threshold.

Sniper let himself fall onto the offered seat, practically melting into the cushions, while placing his hat in his lap. Raking his fingers through his hair again, he let his head tilt forward in the process and started to knead at the nape of his neck. Somewhere in the back of his conscious perception, he registered his teammate shuffling around to put something away into a drawer, and turning on another floor lamp near the seating area.

Normally the marksman would be way more wary. Sure, there where a few minor things he had inevitably registered when coming in, and later, he might would give in to his curiousness and send his gaze to explore a little more, but for now, he was content with just letting himself rest for a bit.  
He simply didn’t feel inclined to draw a rough map of this new surrounding in his mind, to notice possible weapons or exits. He gave his back without a second thought and didn’t bother to ask himself, if there could be any ulterior motives for inviting him here. Not that night. Or better said, not here, in Spy’s present. Snipers lips unconsciously curled upwards at this realization. As they had with countless others of that kind lately. It was odd for him, he knew that himself, but the sharpshooter had started to let his guard down around his french colleague a good while ago.

The evening had exhausted him mentally even more than physically, and it showed, as the hunter closed his eyes for a short moment. Spy, who had sat himself down elegantly in the other armchair right next to him, could not help put smile at this obvious show of trust.  
“You look pitiful,” the French stated while flicking open his lighter.  
Sniper huffed out a sarcastic “Thanks mate,” but shook his head fondly, as he straighten up again a few heartbeats later. The Australian’s hands started to pat down his vest, than the pockets of his jeans and lastly, he even checked the breast pocket of his shirt, before growling out a curse. _That’s my luck again._ He had left his durries at the bar.  
Spy let out a short chuckle: “Really not your day, n'est-ce pas?” plucked the freshly lit cigarette from his own lips and offered it nonchalantly to the other man, who accepted the friendly gesture without reservations.  
“It wasn’t all that bad.” The marksman took a deep drag, letting the soothing smoke escape from his lungs with a short laugh only seconds later. “Just got tiring real quick when the blokes properly got into it.”  
The French nodded and extracted another cigarette from the package.  
“Ditched your fancy case?”  
“Non, I… just lacked the time to refill it today.”  
The Aussie mirrored the understanding gesture he just had received, and let his head fall back to rest against his seat. Finally, he could relax for a tick.

Without requiring words to fill the space between them, the two mercenaries let the time pass minute by minute. It would be a gratifying ending to a needlessly stressful day for Sniper, if there wasn’t something that desperately tried to catch the marksman’s attention, keeping him from completely savoring this moment of peace and quiet. It was the characteristic clicking sound of Spy’s lighter, that finally tipped him off. He himself had long crushed the remains of his nicotine fix in the ashtray between the chairs, Spy on the other hand, had already torn quite the gab in the closely put rows of cigarettes in the fresh pack he had produced earlier. The European seemed calm enough on the outside, as he always did, but when watching him basically lighting one cig on the other, it was hard to not think that he wasn’t at least a little bit peeved about something. To demolish this amount of cigarettes in such a short timeframe, was just a bit much - even for this specific Frenchman, and somehow, the longer he allowed himself to think about it, the Aussie started to fear, that this could have something to do with him.

It wasn’t that the suit wearing mercenary had acted notably different towards him in the last days, but there had been … deviations. The former agent hadn’t missed their morning meetings, and they talked and joked as usual, but he had started to excused himself early, leaving Sniper to walk to resupply alone. He had stopped dropping by at his nests for a short break around noon, but still found him in the lockers after every match to chat about the days battle.  
  
Sniper watched, how his friend fed the air with even more smoke.  
  
All this had started the morning after he had brought him back that book. The evening he had shared a certain secret about himself. Maybe he had started to regret his openness? Grew insecure if he truthfully could lay such a revelation out in the open with a teammate?  
The Australian had felt flattered, that Spy trusted him enough to give him such a personal information. One that could be used as ridicule nonetheless, as stupid as blackmailing a person over something like that was. Luckily, times had slowly started to change, but there were still more than enough idiots around, that would place a fist against your jaw, or a bullet in your head, without a second thought. Not that he himself ever had to deal with problems of that kind, but that was mostly due to the fact, that he hadn’t properly dated someone in more than ten years. Relationships and contracted killing were something a true professional just doesn’t mix.

For a long while, he had covered his need for intimacy with people along the way. A doe-eyed waitress in Sydney, a spunky hunting shop clerk in Melbourne, or a mellow mechanic in Perth. It was easier and felt safer, well, till that incident with this bounty hunter. Blond hair, dark eyes and very steady hands when holding a knife. He had been more cautious after that. Way more cautious.

Another short flame in front of the spy’s face shook Sniper out of his thoughts.  
He watched his host for another few moments, until he flatly stated: “You tear through a couple of these per week I recon.”  
His answer was a mirthless laugh. “You could say that, yes.” Long gloved fingers twisted the nicotine fix over themselves: “Sometimes less, oftentimes more. Truly a nasty habit...” before taking another drag.  
“How did you get into it?”  
Spy felt the muscles between his shoulder blades tense up, as he involuntary held the menthol flavored fog in his chest. It was just idle smalltalk, a light topic of conversation, as they held so often… daily, actually. The former agent leaned further back in his seat, letting his breath go and trying his hardest to relax. Which was maybe a little much to ask from his strained nerves right now. Fixing his gaze at his own hands, he gave himself a minute of consideration. He had gone so far already….

“My brother used to smoke,” he eventually explained, voice just a little bit too tight and shoulders just that tad too loose to not look like his posture wasn’t forced.  
Sniper, who had just started to shrug off his vest, stalled abruptly in his movement, trapping his arms in an awkward position half behind his back. It was obvious that his teammate was a little stunned. Nobody here knew anything about their spy, except of the painfully obvious.  
Hearing him admitting to even having something like a family, someone he cared about, especially around another mercenary, stood in stark contrast to his usual aloofness. It had already been a leap of faith from Sniper’s side, when he had chosen to speak about his parents a few days back. As little as it had been. But to have that trust repaid to this amount was nothing he had seen coming, even if he had allowed himself to look at the two of them as friends.

“Used to?” he asked tentatively after a long moment, finally freeing himself from the fabric.  
“Oui.” Spy let out a bleak chuckle. He hadn’t been out of it like this for a long time, and while his fury had long ebbed away, he felt how frustration and other well known feelings had claimed its place.

“He quit a few years ago...” _because it is hard to keep an addiction up, when you are unable to leave your hospital bed for so long and doctors had to fixate your broken jaw with wire “.._ and I picked it up shortly after. Out of stress, mostly.” Spy could feel how his throat was getting tight, how it was getting harder and harder for him to conceal the trembling of his fingers. He felt like a pathetic idiot. But dear God, he was so sick of still carrying this with him! His eyes fell on the liquor cabinet behind the sniper’s shoulder.  
“Would you like a drink, mon ami?”  
The marksman put his vest and hat on the floor next to him. “What do you got?”  
“Will a glass of Bourbon suffice?”  
“Sure mate.”

The Aussie dragged a hand over his tired eyes, as the French busied himself right behind his back. He could hear glass clinking and how the floorboard creaked under the other man's weight.  
“Ice?”  
“Trying to offend me here?”

Only seconds later, Spy stood next to him, leaning down to press a tumbler in his hand, and as he straighten up again, Sniper got a waft of his cologne. It was one of those clean, simple smells that evoked pictures of the seaside in ones brain. Very subtle and pleasant. The hunters eyes followed the European as he slid back into his seat. He let out a sigh, as he propped his right elbow on the armrest and rolled his wrist which in turn provoked the cube of ice in his drink to plink against the walls of his translucent prison. When he took his first sip, Sniper could not help but to think, that he never had seen his friend so … worn out. Maybe he had been wrong in his concern and the reason to Spy’s slightly off behavior rooted in something else?

“Never take it neat?” the Aussie asked, for the sake of keeping the conversation going.  
“Non.”  
“Why?”  
His companion smiled, but it was unusually weak. “Why not?”  
“I… I have heard that adding a drop or two of water opens up the flavors, but.. er... the cold ice just dulls the edges down to a point where it starts to get flat.”  
“Correct. But it also could remind someone to slow down while drinking. At least if he cares enough to allow the liquid to warm up again a little. Wouldn’t you say so?”  
Sniper shifted unsettled in his seat. “Suppose so.”  
The former agent lit yet another cigaret, took another sip. But not like someone who liked to savor the moment.  
“Spy, is there... is something wrong?”  
A dry chuckle “Someone is nosy tonight.”  
“Mate, you start to worry me here. You know you can ta...”  
“I know,” the former agent cut him off, “but I can’t.”

Silence fell and Sniper, lost for words, led his own drink to his lips. He watched the masked one carefully, till an empty glass was put next to the overflowing ashtray.

“Can I ask you a favor, mon cher ami?” the French requested out of the blue.  
“Of course” the marksman answered without a trace of hesitation in his low voice.  
“I need someone here with me tonight, so that I don’t drink myself into a stupor.”  
Concern grew to worry very quick as Sniper nodded. “I can do that.”  
“Merci bien. I have to be capable of driving in a few hours.”  
A baffled expression drove Snipers eyebrows high.  
“What?” he asked a little bit louder than anticipated.  
“I have to leave the base.” Spy’s demeanor had gone cold.  
“To do what?” the Aussie asked, somehow knowing that he would not like the answer.  
“To kill a man. Slowly.”

The sharpshooter took in a long breath to calm himself and leaned forward. “Got an order?”  
“Non. Something personal, and that’s all I have to say to this matter.”  
“Where are you heading to?” he knew he was pushing it, but he had to know.  
Spy fixed his gaze on him, and his eyes softened a bit.  
“Europe.”

“What the bloody hell!?” Snipers voice bordered on yelling. He couldn’t believe it! Leaving the borders defined in their contract without permission or order was straight up suicide!  
”Mate, what are you talking about? You can’t just bugger off to Europe! Are you fucking crazy?” Sniper found his left hand in his own hair, and felt how his heart was pounding way harder than it should. He railed himself in, took another breath.”Mate, the Administrator will have your head. You _have_ to know that. Even if you, threw some kind of miracle, make it back till Monday. She will get you offed.”

The former agent watched his friend, and sensed a tug in his chest he wished not to feel.  
“I know.”  
“Spook...”  
“I have to do this.”

The outdoor loving assassin saw that there was no use to argue, but he had to convince this stubborn mongrel to stop and think for a moment. Damn it! He could not just let him run into his own demise! The sudden realization that the cocky Frenchman might not come back, hit him like a ton of bricks, and the implications of where this fear might stem from, was nothing he liked to think about right now.

Following an urge that just sidestepped his rational thinking, Sniper reached forward, talking hold of the others hand. “Let me come with you!” The plea had left his mouth faster then he could even register thinking it.

The former agents lips parted in utter surprise and his eyes had gone wide. A wild cacophony of thoughts ran threw his mind, but words failed him in either language he spoke. He noticed the others fingers twitch before the marksman pulled back.

A leaden silence filled the space between the two man, as both of them felt a different and unexpected kind of desperation raging inside their heads and hearts.

“Spy, just let me help you. I...I can’t let you do this.”  
Time crawled forward as if the minutes had to fight their way through tar.  
“D'accord.”

Sniper let out a guttural sigh, before burrowing his face into his own hands.  
“Bloody hell!” he groaned, before freeing his face from his own fingers, snatching his glass and downing the remaining Bourbon in one go. “Wasn’t one attempt to give me a fucking heart attack enough tonight?”  
They looked at each other, lips twitching upwards weakly.  
“Apologies.”  
Another sigh. “No worries.”

Spy stood up to refill their glasses, while the hunter couldn’t stay in his seat and started to inspect the unlit fireplace. It was ready to be used. “Light it if you want,” the French spoke and his guest hadn’t to be asked twice. When the masked one returned, a few shy flames had started to lick at the wood. He let himself sink down to the floor next to his colleague’s feet, who didn’t find the strength in himself to wonder about it for the moment. Sniper reached down to retrieve his share, and stayed hunched over, his underarms resting atop his knees. The suit wearing mercenary shifted his weight, leaning against the other’s chair. They stayed that way for a bit, silently watching the dance of the constantly growing fire.

“No chance that you can tell me -why-?”  
“I am afraid not.”  
“Hm.”  
“At least…. not right now.”  
“Alright.”

After another moment, Sniper clapped his hand on his friends shoulder and moved to sit next to him on the ground. “Roight…. came up with a Plan B already?”  
“Maybe.”  
“Another -Hail Mary- sort of deal, or something we both can survive?”  
Spy smiled at that. “It is actually quite simple. To begin with, all we need are a few days of truce.”  
“Hm, don’t think the Administrator will call for a ceasefire anytime soon just for the hell of it.”  
“Ah, but what if she had to?”  
“I don’t know if I like where this is going...”  
The former agent smirked, clearly back in his element.  
“Tell me, mon cher ami, are you familiar with the concept of sabotage?”

The main entrance door fell shut behind Sniper, who drank in the fresh morning air, like a thirsty man would drink the water of an oasis after days of wandering through the desert.  
As the dark blue of the night had slowly started to fade into the soft pinks of an approaching day, they had finalized a plan.   
A crazy, reckless, absolutely insane plan.

One, of which he didn’t even know the reason behind, and probably never fully would. Still, he had agreed, even had actively asked to be involved.  
And knowing himself, this was certainly the worst part of it. He didn’t care, as long as he could help Spy.

His… friend. _Nothing more._


	13. Ready for takeoff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! I was not really happy with how the last chapter turned out and combined with work being, well, my work, I experienced some sort of a mini writer’s block with that story. So, when I was able to find inspiration and time today, I buckled down immediately. I hope it turned out well enough and this short chapter will break my slump.

The trekking backpack met the ground with a soft thud, stirring up a few little clouds of dust. Sniper leant against the power pole at his side, lighting himself a cigarette. He was early, but to leave base any later than he had, would have been uncharacteristic for him. His hunting gear, as well as the sleeping bag that normally was fixed onto his backpack when he fled the base for one of his short camping trips, were carefully hidden a few meters behind him between some rocks and shrubbery.

They had needed a few days to prepare. Well, Spy mostly. His own role in that play had mainly consisted of just following his daily routines and not to blab. Which was easy enough, seeing that he didn’t spent that much time with the rest of the team anyway. What had been hard, was stopping his mind from wandering… and worrying.  
Sniper adjusted his position to stand a little more comfortably. Looking down at the durry between his fingers, he heard Spy’s voice echo in the back of his mind. _“Truly a nasty habit.”_ The Aussie slowly shook his head and took another drag.

In a way, it was almost surreal. The French had shown a side of himself, that the hunter had never dreamed of seeing. Not only because he hadn’t expect it to exist and spill out, but also what it, in return, had brought out in himself that night. On the other hand, there were a lot of things he hadn’t seen coming, when he had stepped out of his camper a few weeks back, following a rare mixture of curiosity and the wish for company. They were barely acquaintances back then. Colleagues, that respected each other as fellow professionals, but rarely exchanged a word with each other. And now? Now, he was standing on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, waiting for his friend to pick him up, so that they could go and kill a bloke somewhere in Europe, who somehow had wronged the spy in the past.  
 _I’m an absolute mongrel…_ Sniper crushed the remnants of his nicotine fix under his heel, a faint smile tugging on his lips.

A half unconscious gesture, he repeated about an hour later, when he got into the slick, european car of his teammate, and was about to automatically bend down to push the seat back, when he noticed that someone had already taken care of it. Providing his lanky legs with enough room in the already quite spacious driver’s cap. He waited for his coworker to stir the car back onto the road and settle into a comfortable speed before he prepared to ruin the mood.  
“Roight, seeing that we are already on the way, care to finally tell me where exactly we’re heading?”  
The former agent’s shoulders tensed up, just the slightest bit, like every time Sniper had brought up the topic. “Somewhere entirely too nice for what we are going to do.”  
He idly wondered if he only noticed that subtle shift in the others body language because he started to know him better, or if Spy didn’t care anymore to completely hide such things from him. Either way, the suit wearing mercenary hadn’t revoked his decision to take his friend along this messy ride. Take from that what you want, because if any of this ever got back to the Administrator, they both were done for. Spy had casually fried respawn to force a ceasefire for Pete’s sake!  
  
“Look in the glove compartment.”  
The Aussie gathered a small folder and two plane tickets: “Amiens?”  
“It’s _Amiens_ , you don’t pronounce the ‘s’.” The native speaker corrected offhandedly, clearly already to steps further down the line with his thoughts. “A city located up North, not too far away from Paris.”  
The marksman hummed, somehow he had already figured that they were heading to France. “That the bloke we’re after?” The picture was a bit grainy, he pulled his aviators down to take a closer look. Somewhere in the back of his memory, something started to stir. Who did this guy remind him of?

“Oui. I gathered some more information, if approached with a bit of care, it should be an fairly easy operation.”  
“I reckon, me setting up shop to cleanly getting rid of him isn’t part of your plan?”  
“The area doesn’t lent itself to your specialty. It might remain as an option though. But you, putting a bullet in the targets head, is absolutely out of the question.” Spy’s hands tightened around the wheel for a split second. “That bastard is mine.”

The Aussie sifted through the folder. “Got that.” Most of the documents were incomprehensible for him, thanks to the language, but he could guess from the letterheads and other context clues that he, among other things, had found a confirmation letter from a car rental and reservations for a motel. He pulled out the road map, that had been tucked into the back, and some photographs of a few townhouses from different angles. Sniper swiftly sorted through them, quickly putting together that the buildings were all located in the same street. Now he could see why his preferred method of action was a little suboptimal. _Suburban, looks an awful lot like ordinary family homes._

“All very close to each other. Lot of people around the street too. Roof isn’t an option. Any empty rooms I can occupy? An attic?”

“Not from what I learned till now.”

“Any chance that I can scope out the setting before the job?”

“No. I will assess the situation beforehand since I blend in better with the locals and will brief you afterward accordingly.”

“Fair enough. Do we have to get rid of the body?”

“Not necessary.”

“Makes things easier. Weapons?” Getting their own through custody was not worth the trouble.

“Worked out as planned. I am sure you will find your tools more than sufficient.”

“’Course...” Sniper paused for a second, flicking one of the photographs over to reveal an address. Through the few bits of information his friend had dropped in the last days, the Aussie had gathered, that the guy, Spy was after, had to be a criminal of some sort. Considering the others job, not a big surprise. “Seems not like the typical base of operation I assume for someone that managed to piss you off.”

The other mercenary let out a dry laugh. “That imbecile uses his old family home as a safe house. He could not have been any easier to find. No guard dog or other inconveniences either. Amateur. Provided we keep the noise down, we can walk in and out without any problems.”

“Never that easy. At least the bloke will put up a fight.”

“None he can win.”

“Hm.”

Over the course of the conversation, both had fallen into ‘professional mode’, voices even, minds rattling automatically trough sets of steps and questions, and now there was an odd emptiness in the air between them. Since Spy apparently had nothing more to add to the conversation, Sniper settled into the seat, trying to ignore the unpleasant feeling. Pushing his hat over his eyes, he fully intended to take a little nap till they arrived at the airport, but found himself failing to doze off. After a short while, the rhythmic sound of gloved fingers tapping against the steering wheel caught his attention.

“Why are you doing this?” the French asked suddenly.

“Told ya, I can’t let you do this alone.” Sniper muttered.

Another few taps.

“Because?”

“Because, if I had let you just storm off without much of a plan rather than jumping onto the next plane, there was a good chance that you wouldn’t come back.”

Silence fell, and again, it felt a little odd but not in the same way as before.

The Aussie lifted his hat, just the tiniest bit, and looked over to his friend. “You know that, without a competent Spy, the team would be absolutely fucked, and we can’t let that happen, aye?”

The following laughter from both sides was just what had been needed.

\------------------------------------------------------------

Sniper pulled his backpack out off the trunk, leaving his hunting rifle and Kukri behind.

“Did you bring your passport?” Spy asked while hefting his own suitcase out of the car.

“Little late to ask that, but yeah.” Sniper pulled the dark blue document out of the inner pocket of his vest before blatantly passing it to his colleague.

Spy thumped it open “Michael Walker?” He raised his left eyebrow so high, that it almost disappeared behind the maroon colored material of his mask. “Could you go any more generic, bushman?”

“Oi, Michael is a well used name in my family, thank you very much. Besides,..” the Aussie send a quick look around to make sure that they where still alone in this part of the parking lot, “… isn’t the idea behind a forged passport, to pick a name you could find hundreds of in the phone book? Be thankful, that the date in this thing isn’t expired yet. Would have hated to bring the one I use around New Mexico.” 

Spy chuckled, but kept quiet otherwise, while his colleague crouched down for a moment to make sure that all compartments of his backpack were securely closed.

“Michael?”

Sniper looked up “Yeah?”

“Just making sure you listen to your alias.”

“Christ…. I am a bloody _professional_ , Spy.”

“Sébastien. ‘Spy’ isn’t too common in the North, and again: We do want to blend in.”

Sniper rolled his eyes and let out a huff, but the uptick of his lips betrayed him.

Spy double checked if they had their plane tickets, locked the car, then corrected the fit of his lapels.

“Eh bien, only one more thing left to do”, and before the marksman got the chance to even think about what that could be, the former agents hands reached up to his own neck, fingers dug into the soft fabric, and without the slightest bit of hesitation, he pulled the thing up and off his head. Just.. pulled it off. No big deal. Pulled it off, rolled it up, and shoved it in the small pocket on the front of his expensive looking leather suitcase.

Sniper was barely able to prevent his mouth from falling open, but his shock was obvious nonetheless.

“What?” the European asked with a smirk. “You didn’t think I would wear that thing around the airport, didn’t you? We do want to be discrete, non? And a man wearing a glorified ski mask is anything but.”

“Yeah but...”

“Come on now,” he shook his head in amusement, ruffling his fingers through his hair to loosen it up a bit, “you think that would be the straw to break the camel’s back? Considering the plethora of infringements, this should be quite far down the list.”

The Aussie got his facial expressions under control again. “Sounds reasonable.” He picked up his luggage. “Never pictured you with black hair,” he mumbled and turned half away, “... suits you.” the last part of the sentence was almost inaudible. Spy’s smirk fell into something softer, as he followed behind. 

“Merci.” 

It wasn’t much louder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I know the chapter is quite short. But view it as a little interlude to get my flow going again ^^ The next chapters are going to be longer. Because, you know, sometimes plot has to happen XD Thanks for sticking with me y’all!


	14. Back in the bad old days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, so much to finding a native speaker to beta my fic. But hey, it wouldn’t be as charming without my experimental grammar, wouldn’t it? ;

Sniper never had been prone to jet lag, so the eight hour time difference was more of an inconvenience for him, than an actual problem. What had been a real nuisance however, was the fact that they had spend more than half of a day cramped into a flying metal tube, and while this was nothing compared to a trip to Australia timewise, the marksman just hated to fly in general.

He wasn’t afraid of it, but rather annoyed. He always developed headaches during flights and his eyes and throat got dry as sandpaper, no matter how much water he drank. The Aussie also wasn’t a fan of the general hectic atmosphere on airports and so he appreciated, that Spy had insisted on driving the rental they got there, so that he could rest in the passenger seat.

Their destination was a hotel at the outskirts of the city, that seemed to be very popular with tourists. They wouldn’t stand out too much under this mix of people and while it was a nice enough place, the receptionist was clearly not paid so well that she felt inclined to make an extra effort for the guest. She would not remember their faces for all too long and there were no cameras pointing at the parking lot or the entrance to take over this job either. Simply said: it was perfect.

Sniper closed the door, dropped his backpack onto the floor, kicked his boots off and nothing short than collapsed onto the single chair his room had to offer. He had kept it together till now, of course, but his head was simply killing him. He wondered if his ‘respawn headaches’ could possibly worsen his ‘plane-headaches’ and instantly dreaded the idea of his next flight back to Oz. Great, yet another thing that would make visiting his parents uncomfortable.

The sharpshooter let out a sigh and pushed himself up again, he had packed some of the painkillers the doc liked to hand out to them. Little white capsules the German kept loose in an amber glass container. Sniper was pretty sure that Medic produced the medicine himself and that he absolutely didn’t want to know what exactly was in it. Well, at least they worked, contrary to the over-the-counter pills the stewardess had given him. And if he got drowsy from them again, it wouldn’t really matter, as he got some free time on his hand, before Spy was bound to knock on his door, so that they could finalize their plan. 

A few hours later, Sniper had successfully washed away the remnants of pain, an idleness from a good nap, with a cold shower. He was just in midst of dressing himself, when two sharp knocks against wood rang out. “Michael, it’s me.”  
“One sec, mate!” the Aussie called, before grabbing another piece of clothing and heading towards the door.

There wasn’t much left in this crazy world that could truly surprise a man like Spy. And, to be honest, this was something so small, a concept so familiar, that it shouldn’t face the trained agent of espionage at all. But, despite all of this, the French could not deny that this view had caught him off guard.

Judging from his hair, Sniper must just have emerged from the shower. He was barefoot and next to a pair of well fitted jeans, the hunter was only clad in an unbuttoned shirt.  
The lopsided, honest smile was enough to belie the slight shadows under his eyes, and while the marksman himself might be under the impression that he was in need of a shave, if Spy would have any say in that matter, he would never want him to get rid of the pronounced stubble.   
“Come on in!”

And Spy did just that - with each step forcing down another spontaneous thought, that had fuel the sudden heat, creeping up under his collar.  
“I brought us some food”, he explained nonchalantly, while placing a paper bag on the small table.  
Snipers smile widened: “Appreciate it, mate”  
“Don’t mention it. I just thought that it would be delightful to discuss murder over a bite to eat.”

The other man let out a low chuckle and started closing his garment. “And better done in private than in a restaurant full of potential ear-witnesses.” The spy’s eyes followed the movement of the taller ones fingers. He wasn’t sure if there ever has been a time, he had been so relieved and simultaneously so disappointed, to see another man button up his shirt.

“The words of a true professional.”

“Thank you.”

“And of a man filled with paranoia.”

Spy barely was able to dodge the apple Sniper flung at him.

  
  


“So we basically just walz in, secure the perimeter and end the bloke.”

“Exactly. If we approach from this side under the cover of night, ...” Spy tapped his index finger on the map for emphasis “.. we can jump the fence and get in via the back door. After we make sure that nobody else is present, we take him captive. I will handle the rest.”

The Aussie hummed in understanding and picked up one of the Polaroids. The fence was wooden and just around chest height. No problem at all.

“Tomorrow then?”

“Oui. If we find him alone. I don’t like the idea of too much company for this specific event.”

“Hm. Part of a network you don’t want on your heels?”

“No. I simply want to avoid the inconvenience if possible. That man is just a tiny gear in a much bigger machinery. He does not hold much of significance, nobody of his current higher ups will care much. With his history, they will correctly assume that someone just came to settle an old score.”

“What history?”

“He is a mercenary. But unlike us, one that is not trusted with valuable information or things of true importance. His skills lie merely in his muscles and his ability to do what been told without questions. And he sold this to more than one person before.”

Sniper lifted an eyebrow while sorting through the slew of questions, this little statement had brought up.

“So someone to protect a door or a human? Or more the ‘get the money or break their arms’ type of guy?”

“Both.”

“Sure a walk in the park to overpower him then.”

“Don’t worry now. He is past his prime and never underwent a training that even comes near my schooling or your experience. My counterpart at BLU has lost enough one-on-one fights against you that I know you could take this bruiser alone.”

“How reassuring.” Sniper teared off another piece of the fresh baguette and picked up a few cubes of sharp cheese. He would have mocked Spy for the stereotypical choice in food, if he hadn’t seen how much the other enjoyed it and, truth be told, he did too. _Just a simple goon then…_

“À quoi penses-tu?”

“Come again?”

“You are pondering, mon ami.”

“That obvious?”

“For me? Yes.”

A faint smile ghosted over the hunters lips, but it went as fast as it had come.

“I was wondering, what a bloke like that could have done to anger you to a point, that you are willing to risk your live just to end his.”

The French plucked a grape from its stem and turned it in his fingers, scrutinizing the fruit from every possible angle. But he also was evaluating his words just as carefully.

“Let’s just say that he hurt the wrong person. And now I am here to return the favor.”

“Hm. Wasn’t you who got the beating I reckon?”

“No.”

Sniper still wasn’t used to seeing his colleague without a mask. And while he was damn sure that the other didn’t need the obscuring fabric to hide his inner workings from him, he felt like Spy wasn’t wearing any type of mask at all at the moment. He could clearly recognize the grief in his facial expression, the anger, even a bit of guilt. And it hurt to see him like that.  
Not since his few, but cherished friendships in Oz had he felt so naturally comfortable around another human being. Almost every other bond of this kind had been lost due to time, distance, or the simple fact, that he followed quite an _interesting_ professions. For him to run into someone, he genuinely cared about, was rare. This was more than just playing a round of cards every now and then, or holding a short, polite conversation while waiting in resupply.  
No. There weren’t many people the hunter would risk his own well being for. Not many he truly would call ‘a friend’.

“He will pay for it. Tomorrow.”

Spy’s expression darkened as he nodded but changed to a surprised one when suddenly a hand appeared in his vision.

“For now, wanna take a walk?”

\-------------------------

They had been headed for the park that was situated reasonably close by, and while the first few minutes had been spend in silence, they soon fell into an easy rhythm of Spy talking about the city, while Sniper took in the nice surrounding and asked questions from time to time. After the European had ran out of material regarding their current location, they hopped from one topic to another, barely registering how much time passed, till they settled down at a bench near the lake.

“And this, mon ami, is the reason why our cherished doctor dislikes soldiers racoons so much.”  
“Crikey, and I thought it had to do with the risk of rabies or something.”  
“Oh no, I guess Medic would rather enjoy testing out different cures on us.”  
That drew a chuckle out of the sharpshooter. “You really have a story for everyone at base, don’t you?”  
“More than one, actually. And not only stories, as you can imagine.”  
“I can. Just don’t know if I want to.”  
“No need to give me that look.” Spy chided jokingly. “I didn’t dig around too deep, just enough to get a nice overview of my colleagues. I did had to make sure that there were no connections to my former work.”  
“I guess that’s reasonable. How do you become a … “ Sniper caught himself just in time, looking around to see that nobody would have heard the end of the sentence anyway.  
“A spy?” the other assassin guessed, obviously amused.  
“Yeah. I always wondered that to be honest”  
“What do you think?”

Sniper opened his mouth just to close it again. Silence fell for a few seconds before he slowly began to speak. “I guess you start at some kind of government agency? Homeland security, the army or maybe even as a police officer? You must have a foot in the door already and after that, special training?”  
“Bravo. You solved the riddle.”  
“Seriously?”

“Oui, I joined a, let’s call it a 'governmental institution', and got recognized for talents I myself didn’t know I possessed at that point. I received an offer which lead to a transfer, which in turn lead to a very _effective_ training and then – Spy.”

Sniper just stared at his friend.

“Not very glamorous and lacks the all so important mysteriousness - I know. That came later, hand in hand with the danger… and the fun.” Spy laughed but it died down into a sigh. “I don’t miss it as much as I thought I would. But I liked my job, loved it even. I could not imagine doing something else.”  
“Till you did.”  
“Till I did.”

The marksman nodded, but wasn’t willing to push his friend even further. He already knew so much about him, compared to anyone else on base. _Or maybe even beyond that,_ he allowed himself to think. Knowing very well, that he himself had willingly revealed some crucial information about himself.

“What about you? How does the son of a sheep farmer from Australia end up as a gun for hire?”  
That for example.  
“You don’t know?”  
“How should I?” The European had shaken off the somber mood that threatened to overtake him again. Even going so far as to wink at his teammate. “As I told you, I didn’t spend my precious free time stalking all of you. I have better things to do.”

The hunter choked down his laughter as he noticed a young couple walking their way. They of course passed the two men without paying them much mind, but he would not want them to overhear what he was about to say.

“Wasn’t my childhood dream to be a marksman, that much I can tell you for free, but as soon as I had started, there was no denying that I would do quite good in a job like that.”  
The Aussie cracked his knuckles like he often tended to do between shots.  
“Was always talented with me rifle. Worked as a hunter and tracker for quite some time. One day, a former employer of mine asked me if I was available for a more _specialized_ hunt, and I took it.”  
“No qualms at all?”  
“Sure I had. But in the end I figured, if I don’t take the contract, someone else will and the way I do it, it would at least be a quick death. I never tended to faff around with my targets. Dead before they hit the ground.”

The former agent could feel, that there was more to be told, but refrained from asking out loud, not wanting to pry even further. He stood up instead, holding out his hand to help his friend up from his seat, who allowed him to do so without a second thought.

“Wanna head back?”  
“Oui, if you don’t mind. We should get some rest.”


	15. An eye for an eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware that this will be the chapter, where Spy finally gets his hands on the last person that has had a part in physically and psychically breaking his younger brother.  
> It won’t be too graphic or drawn out because I myself don’t like reading about torture. But if you don’t like this stuff at all, keep an eye out for the moment Spy looks at his cuffs and then skip down to the last two sentences.

Sniper was not particularly invested in architecture, nor was he a man of faith by any stretch of the imagination, but he could not help than to pause in awe, looking around the massive cathedral. He felt dwarfed in midst of the high columns of light stone, impressed by the beauty of the stained glass windows and the detailed masonry.  
The Aussie was far from alone in here, but the other visitors also respected the modest quietness, a place like this demanded. Slow steps and whispered words, sometimes supplemented by the clicking sound of a camera or a stifled cough. It was a peaceful atmosphere, and while the hunter would always prefer the wild outdoors over even the most masterfully planned building, he had to admit that this here was nice. For a short while, he almost felt like a simple tourist. It was even enough to temporarily take his mind off of Spy.

He exited the town’s landmark, putting his hat back on in the process, and started to walk down a few streets, just to have a look around. To observe.   
If there was one socially acceptable thing to like about his chosen career, it had to be the fact that he was able to travel a lot and see other sights. And everytime he went places, he normally took advantage of it, at least if it was possible. On his first trip to France though it hadn't been, since the job that had brought him overseas, had left a foul aftertaste in his mouth, that drove him home quickly.   
Shaking his head, the hunter kept walking, while his thoughts strayed as aimlessly as his gate. He didn’t care about either, knowing that he would find his way back to the hotel anytime with the small city map folded up in his vest pocket. 

He passed a bistro and pondered if he should get a bite to eat but didn’t feel hungry enough in the end. Firstly because, even if he had slept fine, his body was still adjusting to the different time zone and secondly, he usually didn’t have the luxury of a proper lunch break. Closest thing to that the sharpshooter got on the field was a granola bar and, since recently, a chat with his masked teammate. _Wondering if he already is lying in wait, observing the house…_ _  
_ And just like that, the Aussie’s thoughts were back with his masked teammate again. Well, that hadn’t taken long.   
The sound of his footsteps were swallowed by the hundreds of little noises that enveloped even the smallest of cities in an ever present blanket, as he walked down a street lined with white and red brick buildings. Yet, all he could see was the face of his friend before his inner eye, and the expression it had held back at base when he had asked him to stay with him, so that he did not drink himself halfway to senselessness. And all he could hear was the tone of the spy's voice when asking him why he was doing this - why he was accompanying him, over the sound of his fingers tapping against the steering wheel on their way to the airport.   
  
He had told him back then, that the team needed the cocky Frenchman. And while it had managed to defuse the tension in a laugh, it was in a way just the Aussies roundabout way of telling the other that, maybe, he was the one needing him. That he would be the one devastated if he had allowed the other to just run off for him to maybe never come back again.

Meanwhile the ground underneath him changed and the sounds slowly shifted from traffic to a bit of nature caged but also cardled into the hold of a city. Instead of people with shopping bags, briefcases or cameras passing by him, he absentmindedly made room for families enjoying a walk together, or couples that tried to find a nice spot in the grass to have a rest. So when he inevitably came back up from the depth of his musing, the marksman discovered that his feed, inspired by his train of thought, had not only taken him back into the big park he and his friend had visited yesterday, but to the very same bench too. _Bugger._

After a few seconds of contemplating, Sniper settled down, resting his elbows atop the backrest and turning his face upwards, relishing the sun where its rays could actually reach his skin. He could swear that in that moment, he was able to smell the menthol of his colleagues cigarettes in the air.

_Fucks sake.._ The hunter sighed and pulled his hat deeper into his face. _I really am a fine professional…._

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Hours later, the Australian slipped a hand under his jacket to run two fingers between the strap of the shoulder holster and his shirt to even out a fold. He could not remember the last time he had carried an actual small handgun. Or had to actively invade a home for his job. Only that this here wasn’t a contract but a private affair, and not even his own.   
It was the middle of the night as Sniper waited at the exact place his friend had told him to.   
He pulled back the sleeve of his outerwear and took a quick look at his watch. Not even a minute later, the marksmen heard a noise behind him and turned to see Spy walking up to him. 

“Ready, mon ami?”  
“Sure. He alone?”  
“Oui. As far as I can tell.”  
“Then let’s get to work.”  
“Agreed.”

The fence was as insignificant of a problem as the simple glass door that connected the small garden with the house. The mercenaries stalked through the dark living room, slipped down the hallway and up the stairs. The former agent led the way. Avoiding furniture and potential tripping hazards like carpets and cables masterfully, till they reached their victims bedroom door. They knew from passing by, that the curtains were closed.  
  
A strip of blu-ish light fell through the lower frame, accompanied by the sound of a loudly running TV. Sniper watched the light flicker and, for a few seconds, listened to the up and down of people cheering and the hectic voice of a commentator.   
If Sniper had his way, they would just bust open the door, place a bullet between the bloke's eyes and then immediately take their leave.   
Not even half of a minute - one shot, and done. Efficient and clean, as this sort of thing should be. With an unsuspecting target that was distracted by a flickering TV, muffler in place and the subsonic ammunition loaded, this really should be an easy job…. but Spy didn’t want a fast, easy kill. He was here for revenge. 

Sniper had let others use him as their tool for doing exactly that before. With contracts of that kind, it had always been their wish but his way. For tonight, he was not the one in charge, but his hands would get dirty nonetheless.   
The marksman looked over to his colleague. In the unlit hallway, he could only see his silhouette, waiting patiently next to the doorframe.   
He and Spy had talked about what would go down as soon as the European had the thug where he wanted him. It would not be pretty, sure, but he could not imagine his friend going too far. Only question was, what was ‘too far’ when your sole purpose was to make someone pay? And would he be willing and able to intervene, if things got out of hand? 

The two mercenaries heard a bed creaking, a suppressed groan and finally, the thud of approaching steps. Sniper silently took a step back and readied himself. It was time to stop chasing hypothetical questions and go into work mode. 

The door opened and a meaty hand blindly reached out to flick the lightswitch at the wall. But instead of a little plastic knob, the house owner found how another man's fingers wrapped themselves tightly around his wrist with the speed of a striking snake.  
The former agent’s movements were fast and precise. In a matter of seconds the assassin had sunk the syringe into the others flesh, thrusting the needle easily through the layer of clothing covering it, while his australian counterpart pressed a thick layer of simple cloth against and into the mouth of their victim, muffling his cries. The bruiser of course tried to counter his attackers, and while he was strong and had gone to the unforgiving schooling of countless brawls, there was not much he could do against two trained assassins with a plan. The tranquilizer kicked in in less than a minute and as the body of the broad shouldered guy went limp, Spy was forced into a half kneel to catch his weight so that he didn’t crash against the sideboard.   
After that, he laid his victim flat on the ground, then tilted his head for a few seconds to monitor the slow up and down of the stunned man's chest, before safely putting away the syringe. The trained agent would never be so stupid as to try a rag drenched in chloroform, this was not a cheap movie after all, but had opted to use one of their medics own recipes. The German had originally developed the formula for his Syringe Gun, but had abandoned it in favour of something a little bit more.. creative. Back then Spy had just known that it would be wise to ‘borrow’ a few samples.

About fifteen minutes later, a very groggy man slowly came back to his senses.  
His eyes were unfocused as his gaze wandered through the room, his brain clearly unable to process his surroundings properly yet. After a handful of seconds, he understood that he was at home, sitting in his own bedroom. The recognition immediately put him at ease and he let his head slump forward again, taking in a few deep breaths. His thoughts got a little bit clearer with it, as he could hear the TV in the background and was able to understand that the boxing match he just had watched must be over already, since the commentator now talked about the backstory of two other fighters, who would soon enter the ring. He grumbled in annoyance, not knowing who had won the previous fight and smacked his tongue a couple of times, because his mouth felt like he had downed a few bottles of red wine. Funny, he could not remember drinking tonight. But he must have, right? Since he could only move his head but not the rest of his body, his limbs felt heavy as led. There also was an uncomfortable pressure against his chest, and the feeling of fabric snuggly slung around his wrists and ankles. But that was alright, as the pressure around his torso helped him to stay upright. He tried to focus his eyes on an unfamiliar form opposite him. Another man. He squinted but could not figure out who it was. Ah, that was probably alright too.

The going ons where curiously monitored by not one, but two pairs of watchful eyes. The lighter ones of them already knowing the goons face by heart. Having studied his picture meticulously over and over again, but the owner of the other ones racked his brains for the last few moments over where he could have seen this particular Frenchman before. Another mercenary - yes, but one who played in such a different league... It was the same feeling like back on their way to the airport. It could not be, but he definitely looked familiar somehow.  
  
In the meantime the thug had blacked out again, but this time only for a minute or so and when he came back to consciousness, shaking his head as to get rid of the fuzziness in it, his reaction was different than before. The familiar sight of his carpeted floor and the feeling of restriction around his body, did nothing to soothe him, quite the contrary actually, as the hazy memory of a fight hit him with frighteningly clearness. The body of the captured criminal jerked forward, but found himself fixated at one of his own sturdy kitchen chairs. Effectively immobilised in a way only someone with hands-on experience in this field could do. At least there was no gag in his mouth. Something that was not as wonderful of a realisation as he might have thought initially, since it didn’t take him long to recognize the feeling of a barrel that was placed on the back of his head. For a few seconds, he did not move but tried to grip the situation he was in. A short moment of wisdom, which however should not last long. 

He tried to see who was holding him hostage, but a ruff hand in his hair corrected the movement of his head. It was this moment he realised that the person behind his back was not the one he had to worry about. 

Opposite of him, a man in a full three piece suit was leaning against his dresser, idly opening and closing a balisong. The metall of the blade gleamed in the cold light of the TV, as it was moved in between the gloved fingers of its handler like a well trained hound, waiting for the command to bite.

He addressed Spy with a few words and, as far as Sniper could tell, he tried to sound unfazed, although his voice clearly tethered along the line of nervousness. Whatever he had said, it did not yield an answer. Not for the bounded one in form of words, nor for the Aussie through an unsuspicious tell. The knife continued its dance and its owner barely gave him a look of recognition. The bruiser let out a curse and repeated his words, now louder and with a unwise, threatening undertone. Spy closed his weapon with a sharp motion, tapping the ground with his left heel once. This prompted his teammate to immediately slap the bloke in the neck with his free hand. A simple warning, and it worked, as he fell silent again, only staring angrily at the opponent in front of him. If there was any remnant of the drug left cursing in his veins, it did not show anymore.

The former agent pushed himself away from his improvised resting place and stepped closer. He came to a halt in front of their involuntary host and just looked at him for the time of a few heartbeats. Couriously, estimating. The face of the former agent displayed the same amused arrogance, seemingly unshakable self-confidence and battle hardened nonchalance on his features, as he would at work. Except today he was the one counting down the seconds and here, in this very room, nobody would come back from the dead after the true fight had begun.

He leaned forward, just far enough away for the short tempered bundle of awakening anger on the chair to not be able to reach him with his teeth. His lips were holding a sweet but hollow smile. And then he spoke.

Sniper had heard his friend using the french language in many situations so far. On the battlefield, at base with the doctor, at the airport and the hotel. He had heard him when he was mocking, joking, cursing or simply chatting. And, no matter the situation, in its core it always had been a pleasant thing to hear. The melodic up and down of the language, so round and lively, simply was pretty. No wonder it had become so romanticized by the populus at large over time. So, contrary to the native language of Heavy or Medic, the Aussie honestly hadn’t been sure if French even held the potential to sound malicious or downright threatening. Well, his teammate proved him wrong just in this moment.

“Good morning. What a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”  
“Who the hell are you?! And again, what are you doing in my house you son of a..?!”  
“Ah, ah, ah.” Spy corrected the fit of his gloves and straightened up again, ”No need to be uncivil, my _friend_.”  
“You’ve got some nerve you damn prig!”  
“Careful now, is that a way to behave around company?”  
“Goddamn bastard!” Another sharply placed slap against his neck prompted the thug to let out a tasteless curse. He set his jar and glowered for a moment, but eventually found himself unable to hold back a spat: “What? Only tough with a bruiser doing your dirty work, huh?”

The former agent laughed at that, but there was no real amusement giving his chukeling any lightness or colour. He pulled out a cigarette, soon filling the room with menthol flavoured smoke.

“Listen, I can guess who has sent you….”  
“Oh no, you absolutely can't.” The assassin took his cig between two fingers and allowed himself a short second to intently look at it, before flicking some ash directly onto the floor. “Since I am here for my own reasons.”  
“Then you got the wrong guy! I have never seen you before!”  
“Correct. But you met someone very dear to my heart.”

The look on the bruisers face shifted to doubtful confusement.

“Damn it! I knew that bitch is crazy but… If all this shit is about Sylvie, you are really overreacting.”  
Spy let out a lungful of smoke. “I am not acquainted with a woman of that name.”  
“What.. what do you want then for Christ sake!? Money? Weapons? Give me a few hours and I can get you both!”  
“None of that.”

Sniper followed the short back and forth and while he had only the tone of voice to go on, he witnessed how the nervousness in the bounded man's speech, at first only subtle, grew into a slow panic.

“Drugs then? That’s a little harder to do for me nowadays but ...”  
“Revenge.”  
“...”

Spy leaned forward again, “I am here to pay _you_ back.” The tip of his lit cigarette mockingly bobbed up and down only centimeters away from the others face as he spoke around it. “ So nothing you might say or try to offer me, will save you.”

It only took three seconds of stunned silence, before his victim started to trash in his bounds, spewing out curses.  
Ignoring how the hoodlum's voice got higher and how his words slurred together in his hurry, Spy glanced over the fit of his cuffs for a moment.

“He simply can not remember anymore.” His voice was cold and sharp enough to make the other shut up. “Maybe it was the concussion, maybe it is his psyche trying to shield itself from the memory. But he can not recall how many there have been. How many men have used his body as a punching bag, when the godless bastard leading the interrogation has taken a break in between the questioning.”

“Wha.. what are you talking about?! You have the wrong guy! I am out of that sort of business since ….. GAHHH!”  
Spy had drawn his balisong so fast, that neither of the other men had been aware of it, burying it deep into its living sheath. Sniper instinctively clasped his gloved hand over chin and mouth of his colleagues target, muffeling his scream. 

The suit wearing mercenary leaned in even further, drawing all of his victims attention to him. He waited till the other had found control over his breathing again. Huffing out air through his nose in a shaky pattern fueled by fear.   
“There has been one who repeatedly was choking him with a piece of clothesline rope to an inch of consciousness, before letting back some air into his lungs. Has that been you?”   
He could hear the wounded one making noises of denial, but of course it didn’t have any weight to him. The blade turned, drawing out more cries against the marksman's holding fingers. “Or did you break his fingers? The doctors guessed a hammer has been used to do so.” 

Cold sweat had started to collect on the oldest man's face and body, accompanied by shivers. Spy moved his weapon again and while a well placed stab wound in this area of the body could bleed surprisingly little - At least compared to other cuts that send blood flying for meters - with him dragging the blade further, dark blood started running over his fingers in no time. “There has also been a man who has brushed over some knuckle dusters and broke his jaw. It was in the end when they came to terms with my brother not giving out any information. This monster did not care. He knew he was not there to finish a job, but to prolong a man's suffering.”   
The crook tried to tilt his head back, tried to find his other captors line of sight to send a silent plea. The rising pressure of his fast beating heart only worsened the internal bleeding the weapon in his abdomen had caused, pushing out his blood in gushes.   
Spy grabbed the other by the jaw and corrected his gaze forward again. His own fingers were shaking and his voice was dull.

“It doesn't matter anymore.” He pulled out his knife, careful that, while the glove and cuff of his right hand were stained, the rest of his suit would not be soiled. “It is over now. You are the last.”  
The wounded man slumped down as far as his shackles and the marksman's hand would allow. Without a further word, the former agent drew his pistol. He nodded, and Sniper stepped back. Before the bruiser could even draw in enough air to scream, the pathetic mechanical click of the muffled handgun marked the end of a life.

With empty eyes and a face bare of any emotion, Spy took a final look at his work. He put away his pistol and went to wash his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admittedly had a hard time pacing this chapter - So I sincerely hope this is fine with you lot ^^


	16. Le temps guérit les douleurs….Parfois.

Sniper was sitting on the edge of his bed, absentmindedly cracking the knuckles of his fingers one by one. He hadn’t flicked on the lights when he had come back, a tick the Aussie had developed over the years to not give any indication on when he entered or left a room on the night of a job. So, without anything truly interesting to rest on, his eyes remained half closed while the tall man was chasing his thoughts. He automatically started to roll his wrists and stretch his arms, but when he wasn’t able to wring any more sounds out of his body, the sharpshooter picked up a water bottle to take a small sip. The lukewarm liquid tasted stale, but he didn’t mind it too much. The Aussie shook his head while opening another button of his shirt, and let out a sigh into the emptiness of the room. He should have gone to bed, but his mind was still racing in a way, he wasn’t used to at all.

He had felt off from the moment Spy had left the room to clean himself from the blood of his still warm victim.  
No, holding a criminal’s mouth shut to prevent him from screaming out his pain and fear was nothing he would write on his resume. But, while not his preferred way of action, it wasn’t that much of a moral dilemma either. What had been worrisome though, was how empty Spy’s eyes had been after the fact. How flat and emotionless his voice was. As if all of that had been nothing more than just a unimportant bagatelle, that had to be done, but ultimately held no meaning.

For the Aussie, it wasn’t hard to see that his friend was hiding something under the unimpressed mask of his cold professionalism. But he did not feel like it had been the time, or place, to ask about it. And so he had made his lonesome way back to the hotel, as had been planned.  
But with every passing minute, he wished more and more to have said something. Sniper dragged a hand over his face, growling out a curse. He got on his feet and pulled on his jacket.  
  
He needed some air.

\-----------------------------

The soft click of the door in his back had something concluding. It finlaized the matter in a way. The deed had been done and every possible evidence taken care off. This was it and, when the sun would come up in an hour or two, he would never need to think about tonight ever again. Spy took a deep breath and let his head fall heavily back against the wood of the door.

Soon steam was filling up the small bathroom, obscuring the mirror and laying a thin film of moisture over every surface. The water was almost too hot, turning Spy’s skin first pink, then red. But it was only a momentary thing, and while the sting of the heat was a bit uncomfortable, it would not add another scar to the collection the former agent's body was holding. The French didn’t mind it, as the sensation provided him with something mundane to occupy his mind with, while he waited for the water to relax his muscles and wash away the fog in his head. He should have felt ecstatic about finally being able to put this unholy mess to rest, but instead only felt drained. Was this really it?  
He had thought so once already, only to get surprised unpleasantly .  
  
The former agent reached forward to turn off the shower, and the lively sound of the pelting down water got replaced with soft splashes of small trickles and droplets falling off of his body. Spy shifted his weight and leaned forward, resting his head on his right underarm that in turn had found its place against the tiled wall. 

Back then, his justification to go on this little killing spree of his had been, to give back a feeling of safety to his brother. But in reality, its true purpose had always been to cover up his own helplesness. Of righting a wrong he had not been able to prevent in the first place.  
In the end, it hasn’t been enough to ease the guilt that was nesting in his heart like some sort of twisted parasite. 

The steam had settled down and the air was getting colder. Why did he feel so empty?

He could clearly remember the explosive mix of emotions that had taken possession of him when hunting down the first few culprits. The twisted sense of justice, when he had drawn his knife over the skin of the interrogator. The rage that had been clawing its way up from the pit of his stomach to his head, blinding him when he pulled the trigger over and over again. And the relief that had washed over him, that had slowly chipped away at this paralyzing feeling of helplessness, every time he had come back home and had to bleach out the blood off his white dress shirt.

But seeing this pathetic excuse of a mercenary strapped to his own chair, in his own home, squirming and babbling out nonsense. It had been so inadequate.  
He did not know why, but deep down, he had thought that killing that man would finally free him from the feeling of guilt, he had never been able to fully shake off.

_I should have talked him out of it... I should have advised him better .... I should have put more pressure on them when the communication broke off.... I should have taken matters into my own hands and looked for him ... I should have ... I should have ... I should have..._

It was always the same game, always the same thoughts hunting him. He had been able to silence them for the most part, but they came back like a mocking echo wandering through his mind each time he saw his brother and could not help but notice all the things that had been robbed from him, even now, when he was doing so much better. And he wasn’t even talking about the scars and fake teeth, or how he would never be able to put his full weight on his right leg again. No, what hurt far worse was how he still involuntarily flinched with any unexpected noise and could not sit with his back to a door without breaking into a sweat. That he had gotten claustrophobic and relied on drugs to sleep.   
  
_I should never have allowed him to try to emulate me…_

The former agent pushed himself off the wall with so much force, that he almost fell down to the slippery floor. He brushed his hair back with only his fingers, after half heartedly toweling it dry, pulled on some clothes and left his room.

He needed a goddamn cigarette.

\-----------------------------

Sniper might have been a tall man with an almost genetically embedded preference for boots with a sturdy enough heel to crush every stinger-wielding bastard, aka scorpion, with ease. But his ability to move almost as eerily quiet as their spy did, was a well known fact at base. Proven by at least three cups of coffee, Engie had dropped on the kitchen floor after being unexpectedly greeted by the sharpshooter, who had decided to look for some leftovers after getting peckish at some ungodly hour in the night.

“Enjoying a late night smoke?” 

Well, Spy did not drop his nicotine fix, but he let out quite a colourful curse, as he jolted up on the nonchalant seat he had taken on the hood of their rented car. 

“Mon Dieu!” he panted “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”  
Sniper could not help but grin, “Naw. I need you alive to tell the tale. Nobody would believe me that I was able to get a jump on you otherwise.” The Aussie pointed at his colleague's watch. “And _I_ didn’t even need a fancy piece of technology to do so.”  
The smile, Spy gave his teammate, seemed hollow, forced. “ It seems like I am not on top of my game tonight.”

Sniper's grin faded, as his concern flooded back again.  
“No, you are not. I wasn’t even trying to be sneaky….” He took a seat on the hood as well. “Do you regret it?”  
“I don’t tend to make regrettable choices, bushman”, the French answered, but where otherwise he could modulate his tone so perfectly, for example dancing back and forth between the extremes of arrogance and jest, his voice now was flat and oddly cool.  
“Spook…”  
“Non. I do not regret it. This man would have deserved far worse.”  
“So, what is bothering you then?”  
Spy sight. ”Are you aware that you can be awfully blunt sometimes?” He took another deep drag. “What else should be bothering me?”   
“I don’t know, that's the reason I'm asking.”  
  
Spy bit the filter of his cigarette. He did not spare a single look at his companion, but chose to investigate the ground in front of his shoes instead.  
“Mate....”  
Spy huffed out some smoke, visibly bristeling up, “Sniper, just leave it be.”  
“Sure..”, the other mercenary bit back sarcastically, “and just leave you sitting here - broodingly smoking on the hood of a car till the sun rises, like on the cover of a cheap ‘Detective Story’. I mean, you are already sporting the washed up look perfectly. So why the hell not?”  
“I assure you - I am _fine_ .” Spy practically hissed. “You don’t have to concern yourself.”  
“Maybe I don’t mind concerning myself, eh?”  
“I did not ask for your pity!”  
“Fine with me, because I did not offer you any, you stubborn mongrel! So cut the bullshit and talk to me.” He had not raised his voice, but in the silence of the vacant parking lot, this made no difference.  
  
The Frenchman threw his cigarette onto the asphalt and stood. His body was taut. Coiled up from the inside with pent up frustration that just begged to get out, one way or another.  
He slammed his hand down onto the car only centimeters away from his teammates hip. “Putain de merde! Who do you think you are talking to?”  
“To a bloody idiot that refuses to take any help, except when it comes to the dirty work apparently.”  
“Oh please! Correct me if I am wrong, but as I recall it, I was not the one asking for assistance in the first place.”  
“Naw. You would have preferred to just sign your death sentence instead.”  
“What kind of simple fool do you think I am? I would have handled the situation easily and returned to work with time to spare. Don’t you dare implying, my abilities would be on the same laughable level as the rest of RED's!”

“You know what? Fine.” Sniper's whole expression shifted. His voice was as level as his facial expression neutral. He got on his feet as well, bodily pushing Spy away from him to do so. “Have it your way then.” The marksman pulled himself up to his full height, shoulders square and head held high.  
Spy, still seething with missguided anger, took half a step back, as if to ready himself against the hit, he expected to follow. 

But Sniper just turned away.

Without wasting another second, the Aussie shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking. Leaving his agitated teammate behind, who observed the others retreat with mixed emotions. 

He watched the lanky silhouette of his friend, sharply highlighted by the spotlights of the streetlamps repeating every few steps, while he was crossing the lot. After he had passed the last lantern, the marksman immediately got swallowed by the thinned out darkness of a soon to be fading night.  
Suddenly, the French felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. He still struggled with himself, caught between the sinking feeling of an indefinite fear and his pride, when Sniper had reached the backentrence of the hotel. 

Spy knew it was not possible: But he swore, that in that very moment, he could hear the deafening sound of the closing door slamming shut, as if right next to him.


	17. Crossing relations

The grey light of an overcast day fell through the big window at the end of the hallway. Combined with the still switched on corridor lights, it was enough to be uncomfortable for his dry eyes. Overstained from a night of too little rest and too much thought.  
Sniper let the door fall close behind him and fished his Aviators out of the breast pocket of his slightly crinkled shirt. A dull throbbing in the base of his skull, that wasn’t quite pain yet, heralded the beginning of a particularly unpleasant headache.  
The Aussie pressed his right hand against the back of his neck, massaging the tense muscles under his fingers, not caring that he was messing up the fit of his hat in doing so.   
  
The door to the room Spy had been occupying came into view, it was open.  
Peeking inside while walking by, he catched a glimpse of a maid changing the bedding.  
 _Wonder if he even bothered to turn in tonight…._ _  
_Not even in the light of a new day he was able to figure out how exactly they had managed to fall into that nasty argument. Maybe he didn’t know the French as well as he had thought. And although it shouldn’t surprise him, seeing both their former and current professions, it hurt nonetheless. No matter how much he wished it was different.  
 _I hope he has simmered down over the last hours..._ Otherwise the forthcoming car journey might just be another disaster waiting to happen. 

After checking out of the hotel, the Aussie headed for the parking lot, where it didn’t even take him three seconds to realize that their rental was not in its spot anymore.  
 _What the hell?_ _  
_Sniper took a few fast steps down the driveway to inspect the small public parking bay right next to the facility. Nothing. Did Spy really forget what they had agreed on before the whole debacle unfolded?  
The sharpshooter's heart rate picked up abruptly.  
 _No. I mean …_ _  
_Had he really overstepped the line that far? Sure, he might have pushed a bit further than had been wise out of concern but…  
 _But he would not just…_ _  
_Snipers hand flew to his vest, finding its place over the pocked that held his passport - only his passport. Both of their plane tickets were stored in the glove compartment of the rented car.  
... _leave_.

The honking of a car directly behind him prompted the marksman to jump gracelessly to the side. He turned on his heels, irritated, drawing in a lungful of air to let the driver have a piece of his mind, when he was hit with the familiar sight of his french colleague's smug grin, who had rested his elbow on the edge of the rolled down car window.   
“To sneak up on somebody late at night is childsplay.” Spy cocked his head in a way that should emphasise the amicable undertone of his mocking, as he made his statement with an almost annoying level of nonchalance. “But in the bright daylight and hindered by over a ton of steel, that's a different story. So try to trump that, you overconfident kangaroo.” 

  
The former agent's voice was bright and seemingly unconcerned, as he effortlessly picked up the lost threat of the friendly banter that had started last night, on the hood of that exact car, ignoring the fact that it had escalated into a fast rising fight.  
He was clad in yet another imaticuly pressed suit, freshly shaved but nonetheless with a hint of a shadow under his eyes. The Aussie stood there like a rumpled deer in a headlight. A simmering annoyance began to rise in his chest.  
Sniper watched as his friend chuckled again, gesturing to him to get into the car. He snapped out of his stupor, but not his thoughts, threw his backpack into the trunk and got in. As he turned slightly to get a grip on the seatbelt, his facial expression had fallen back into neutral and his mind was made up.  
“Got me scared there for a tick, mate.” he confessed, buckling in without looking at the other mercenary.  
Upon hearing his friend's low voice, Spy’s fingers twitched around the steering wheel. “Pourquoi?” he asked, disturbed but not surprised by the serious tone “I only went for petrol. You could not have assumed that I would simply leave without you?” The former agent tried, and succeeded, to hit a loose, humorous tone, but avoided looking at the other just the same.  
“Before yesterday I wouldn’t.” Sniper simply gave back. “But just a minute ago, I wasn’t so sure anymore.”

The French sighed, he reached for the ignition to shut off the vehicle but his movements stalled before reaching the keys. The Aussie had turned his head, anticipating. Time crawled forward as seconds turned into minutes of tense silence. Spy's hand fell down onto the gearstick, he shifted into first gear and as he threaded into the thin traffic, Sniper let his head fall back against the seat. 

To the Aussies' immense surprise, they only drove for a very short while before his driver parked next to one of the many red brick buildings. The front had gotten a more modern touch through a glass annex. The former agent's attention focused on the bright orange sign of the little cafè, as if he needed to collect himself for a short moment.  
“I acted very unprofessional yesterday.” He tore his eyes away from the building and looked at his teammate. “This whole operation got to me more than I like to admit, and you have unjustly felt the consequences of my incompetence of handling myself.”  
The lanky hunter sunk a bit deeper into the passenger seat, turned only his head to find the other’s line of sight. “I know how some jobs can mess with ya head - badly. And I guess I don’t mind getting the brunt of a friend's frustration from time to time. If it helps, I can take it. But would it damn well kill you to at least consider _letting_ me help you?”  
The French huffed out a humorless: “I am not used to considering … help.”  
Sniper let out a sigh and started to massage his neck again: “Me neither mate…I need a damn cup of coffee.” He gestured at the building in front of them. “But I figure you already thought that much.”  
Spy’s smug smile was back in an instant. “Evidently.”  
Sniper rolled his eyes and reached for the door. He had his feet already out on the concrete when two very simple, but also very honest sentences made him turn back to face his teammate. 

“My apologies, mon cher ami. I should have known better.”

Both, taken by surprise, but also feeling his temper fading away, the tall mercenary shook his head: “No worries.”  
Albeit it was a different sort than before, silence dared to creep up again, when Spy finally pushed open his own door. “Let us see that we get some caffeine into you. I don’t care for your company on an horrendously long flight if you are grumpy.”  
Sniper took off his glasses and shook his head: “Bloody Mongrel.” A smile spread over his face. 

\--------------

Spy took a long sip from his coffee, savouring the aroma and the warmths. His folded gloves laid next to him on the table, draped over his cigarette case. They had chosen a seat at the end of the room. Or more precisely: Sniper had.  
Their table was stuffed away in a corner like an afterthought. Or maybe it had been cramped in to provide more seating when the business picked up later in the day. A big plant in a heavy looking pot was placed right next to them.  
The former agent was ready to throw another jab at his colleague regarding his paranoia, but the other beat him to the first sentence since the waiter had brought their beverages.  
  
“So, I take it you feel better now?”  
Spy winced slightly. He took another sip, then replied: “You really won’t let this unfortunate matter go?”   
“Didn’t say that.” The marksman reached into the inside of his pocket, pulling out his own pack of smokes.  
“Why are you asking then?”  
“Same reason why I approached you yesterday. Just wanted to be sure, ...” Sniper paused to light his nicotine fix, “... because I care.”  
The spy let go of his cups handle a split second too soon and the cup clattered against its saucer, spilling a few drops of sandcoloured coffee onto the table. Sniper didn’t seem to notice, although his eyes were fixed onto his friend.  
“I get it, Spook. There are things you don’t want to talk about and that’s fine with me but, as my mum always says: ‘A shared sorrow is only half of the burden.’ I wanted you to know that …”, the hunter faltered in his speech, his voice going a tad more quiet, “… that I am willing to take my share, as your friend, if you let me.”

The European wanted to force himself to smile, to politely decline the offer, to gracefully weasel out of this situation without Sniper realizing how deep his words had reached in his still stirred up mind. But all his training seemed to have fled him in that moment, leaving just his stubbornness behind to keep up the facade of countenance.  
“I appreciate the offer, but I carry my burdens alone.” He at least tried to not sound cynical.  
Sniper took hold of his drink, not bothering to set aside his durry first. He could feel the heat of the burning cigarette only inches away from the side of his face, while the hot coffee ran down his throat, just barely cooled down enough to not burn him.  
“Same here, just thought … you know, I went through a lot of rattling situations myself. One almost put me off the work for good. Talking about it would have saved me a lot of sleepless nights I recon. Unfortunately there are not many people a gun for hire can really talk to.”  
“Ah, the woes of a trained killer are truly many.” Spy snickered despite himself. “What could have happened to put a true professional off from his beloved job?”  
The Aussie leaned back in his seat, he toyed with the edge of his cigarette pack for a moment. Spy’s eyebrows rose up at the sight of his friends fidgeting. 

“Fittingly, the first thing that comes to mind actually happened here in France. Threw me for a real loop, can tell you that much.”  
The natives' lips parted in surprise. “You have worked in France before?”  
“Yeah, ‘handful of years back. I had worked my tail off for months on end to build up my reputation. Had just started to get the bigger paychecks in Oz, could pick and choose a little more with my contracts, got a solid foundation going. Then I got an offer for a job overseas. An opportunity to open up a whole new market. High risk. But also high pay.”  
Sniper’s gaze had fallen onto his own hands while talking: “To be honest. I didn’t mind the former to get the latter at that time, so I took it.”  
  
“I never thought of you as a greedy man. Or as someone who takes ill advised risks.” Spy chimed in carefully, provoking the other to let out a husky chuckle.  
“I am here mate. Breaching a binding contract and chatting with a literal spook about my life. If that’s not taking an ill advised risk I don’t know what is.”   
Like an old school teacher, the Frenchman led an obviously mocking gesture with his index finger, even going so far as to ‘tsk’ while doing so.:“Retired ‘spook’, if you don’t mind.” He let go of the joking act as fast as he had picked it up. “ Although many would say that it is still not the wisest choice to trust me. As they would also say for someone like you.”  
Sniper nodded. “True. But here we are.”  
“Oui, here we are.”  
The marksman crushed his cigarette into the small ashtray between them. “Well, at least my reasoning for doing so is better today.”  
“I sure hope so.”  
Both gave a short smile, albeit Sniper’s quickly faded again, when Spy nudged his head forward in a way that should encourage the other to finish his tale.

“To keep a long story short: My employer was in need of a sharpshooter, who was comfortable with strange angles and who could handle laying in easy reach of the enemy. So I knew that if anything went wrong, I would have no time to get away. What I didn’t know was that ‘strange angles’ meant ‘damn near impossible’, and to make a bad thing worse, I was not working alone. The whole operation was even more convoluted than expected, took a whole damn team of hired specialists, but in the end, it went over surprisingly smoothly.”  
The European, who had listened attentively, drew his eyebrows together in confusion. “I can’t see how this was something that ‘threw you for a real loop’.”  
“Because it wasn’t the job itself … It was what happened afterwards.” Snipers voice dropped at the end of the sentence, as if he was not sure if he really wanted to revisit the memory. But he decided that, if he wanted to encourage the stubborn European to open up, he had to give a bit of his own.  
  
“After I had collected my payment, I came across a half open door on my way out. Can’t tell to this day why exactly I reached out and pushed it open all the way, but I did.” The Aussies face didn’t show much of any emotion as he recalled the event. “I found one of the other freelancers that had been hired for the job. He… was not in good shape.”   
The marksman paused for a second, frowning in disapproval. “I don’t know what the hell the bloke could have done to get that treatment, but it was brutal. They had taken off his mask, but I couldn’t tell how his face looked, even if it hadn’t been covered in blood. For a moment, I was sure he was already dead. Would have been a mercy... But that tough bastard lifted his head and looked at me. I don’t think he recognized me in his state, even so he seemed to at least get that I had been on his side in a way before. I had to lean down to his facelevel when he tried to speak and it took me a bit to even understand what he was saying…”  
Sniper looked away from his friend and out onto the street. The mangled face of a broken man had appeared in front of his inner eye again. “He downright begged me to kill him, so that this hell could be over. I know it wasn’t my business, but I couldn’t just leave. Didn’t feel right to do so. So I cut him loose, and since there was no chance that he would make it out alone, and I wasn’t keen on taking his place in the seat by getting caught, I slung him over my shoulders like a shot deer and booked it.”  
The sharpshooter’s eyes had wandered back into the room, making sure that there was still nobody near enough to hear their quiet conversation, or better said, his monologue.   
“I don’t believe in much, and I don’t like to rely on luck, but fucking hell, I had a lot of it that day. Made it out unseen and got the poor bastard to a hospital. Wondered for a while if he even survived, but I preferred to lay low for a bit. My former employer never found out that I was the reason their prisoner escaped, and I wanted it to remain that way. Threw me off my game for some time. Made me think about, if I really wanted to mess with the industrie. Teached me a fair bit about professionalism... about standards.”  
Finally Sniper looked back at his colleague, and his eyes widened at the sight. Spy was white as a sheet of paper, his expression was unreadable and his eyes fixed onto the cup of coffee that he was holding between cramped fingers.  
“Mate?” the Aussie leaned forward “Is everything alright?” His hand twitched forward, but Sniper caught himself before he could truly reach out.  
The French took a deep breath.  
“You said they had taken off his mask. Was the other freelancer a Spy?”  
“Yeah.”  
“And that contract... I guess it took place down in the south of France, a little over four years ago?”  
Sniper felt how the hairs on the back of his neck started to rise under the tension. What was going on here? “Yeah… Spook what is…”   
Then suddenly that tiny, pesky puzzle piece that had bugged Sniper for the last few days fell in place. And with it, more.  
  
He knew why the goon Spy had been after seemed so familiar. That man had been there. A figure in the background. Carrying in ammunition boxes and standing next to doors at the end of hallways. An apparently unimportant dime a dozen henchman. One that had hurt the wrong person.  
The two mercenaries stared at each other, taken aback.  
“Bloody hell!”  
“Oui.”  
“Who …?”  
The European shifted his gaze to his cigarette case. Its corners gleamed in the sunlight under the soft blanked of the dark brown leather gloves.  
“My brother.”  
“Oh Bugger ...”


	18. A burden shared....

They sat there in stunned silence, trying to grasp what they just had discovered, to understand what this could mean… what it had changed.

Spy seemed to regain his composure first. Prying his hands away from his cup, he forced the shock out of his posture and loosened his jaw, his lips parted as he willed himself to draw in enough air that his voice would not be shaky. But when he attempted to speak, words fled him. Letting out a sound somewhat between a laugh and a sigh, the former agent absentmindedly cradled his fingers through his hair. What in the world was there to say to this mess of a revelation?

The Europeans' gaze flickered around the table, till his eyes laid rest on his cigarette case.  
“I think there is a kind of closeness only siblings can understand.” He pulled it closer to himself, softly tapping the metal lid once or twice. “Naturally, when the teenage years hit, there were times where feelings of rivalry took the better of us. But when push came to pull, we stuck together, and god help the poor imbecile who would try to insult one of us in front of the other’s face. We knew that we could always count on each other. And despite age and experience, he always tended to idolize me.” 

Spy rested his head against the palm of his right hand, staring down at the little drops of sand colored coffee that had soaked into the otherwise pristine white tablecloth. The words suddenly fell out of him so easily. It should honestly frighten him, but he could not bring himself to stop.

“I did not tell him about my change in profession. Not because I was following orders, but because only someone imensly stupid would not see the risk invoved. But with time, and despite all of my precautions, he found out anyway.” A small smile flitted across the frenchmans lips, a fleeting sign of brotherly pride. “I tried to discourage him, of course, but there was no way to change his mind. He wanted in - so I showed him how. And for a while, I even was glad. I loved my work, but it is a secretive profession. To be able to openly share my experiences with him made me happy.” Spy rubbed the ringfinger of his free hand over one of the small stains for a moment, as if he could wipe it away. ”What an incredibly selfish thing to say, non?” He sighed again and closed his eyes. “And then I almost lost him in the most gruesome way I could ever fear. I worried that he was not ready for that mission. He had done excellent work till then, true, but this was still outside his league. Nonetheless, his superiors thought he could handle it, so I came to the conclusion, that I should not discourage him, if I wanted to see him climb the ranks. To be successful. So I swallowed my worries and went out of his way. At first, everything seemed to go well. He got in posing as a freelancer for one of their jobs, while trying to do his own behind their backs. Then I heard that communication had broken off. I tried not to jump to conclusions, stayed calm and let his division handle the matter. He most likely just had shut off communication as a safety measure from his side, he would get in touch soon...”

Spy’s voice had died down to a whisper with the last few words. He still held his eyes closed, trying to push down the memory of his brother in that hospital bed.  
“It was my fault”, he stated as if it was the only logical conclusion, “I should have talked to him. Insisting that he had not been prepared for this. He would have been mad at first, but ultimately, he would have trusted me and my instincts. I am sure of it.”  
Spy registered something like a distant pain in his hand that was resting on the table. It took the suit-wearing mercenary a moment to realise that he had clenched his fingers into a fist so tight, that his own nails were digging into his flesh.“If I had just stopped thinking like an agent and acted more like a brother, he would not have had to go through this hell. “

The former agent finally opened his eyes again, straightened his posture and met Sniper's gaze. “I did everything I could to give him his life back but I ... I…” _No, I have said way too much already.. Sniper is not my personal therapist, he is … I already could never pay him back._ _  
_Spy was sure that he had to look pathetic right now and he expected to read some justified deprecation in the face of his fellow professional because of this undignified display. But instead he was met with one of the Australian’s indecipherable poker faces. And in this moment, maybe, that was even worse.  
“I owe you my appreciation, and more. Without you, he would not have lived.”

Sniper did not know how to feel right now.  
Starting with this unexpected friendship, to the morning he willingly and knowingly broke a binding contract by flying with said friend to France to settle an old score of his, and all the things he learned and experienced in between and after… He had honestly thought that things had already become as bonkers as it could get. But then - this! How crazy was this? How small were the odds? A thousand thoughts flooded the marksman's head and half of them were not even remotely cohesive. It was a lot to process but two things were very clear: Firstly that, whatever he decided to say or do now, would impact their ongoing relations in a major way. And secondly, that he had absolutely no goddamn clue how to properly react. And sure enough Spy didn’t owe him. He just had done what was right.

Spy blinked a few times, processing. Whatever he had expected to happen, this was seemingly not it. He was not as pale as a few minutes ago anymore, was sitting straight, his eyes tired, but from afar, nobody would guess the inner turmoil he had just unloaded onto the table.  
“I see.” Two simple words but there was something in Spys voice, something somewhere between acceptance and defeat that was worse than any undertone of anger or distraught could manage to be. The European finally fully unclenched his hand.  
“I will call for the waiter. We should take our leave soon if we wish to catch our flight.”

Sniper saw the other turn his head in search of the staff, registering how he lifted his hand to make this universal gesture that every waiter on this bloody planet knew by heart, when he just thought. _Fuck it._

Like when you are cornered by the enemy and you only have three bullets and a prayer to a god left you dont believe in. Or when you have to choose between sitting through yet another awkward holiday meal with your judgemental father silently, or take one more chance in defending your choices. Or …. when you are standing behind your half closed window, morning coffee in hand, and try to decide if an attempt to kindle a friendship with your co-worker had even a remote chance of success…  
Just, Fuck it!  
Because sometimes the only way to get ahead was to don’t give a damn, if whatever you _wanted_ to do was right, Sniper reached forward. He caught his teammate by the wrist and pulled his hand back down to the table in a firm, but also surprisingly gentle hold:  
“Remember when I told you I would listen?” 

\--------------------------------------------

Life on base had been good over the course of the short ceasefire, but already it started to get dull. At least for Scout.

Between the expected initial chaos, a whole lot of drinking in the first night of truce, and the occasional game of cards, most of the mercenaries had used the unexpected free time to simply relax or catch up on things they hadn't had the time for in a while. Most of it being really boring stuff by the way. Well, with the exception of the Engineer, who was tasked to repair the malfunctioning respawn system, which took up most of his time. At least that was what he had told Miss Pauling.

The other genius of the group, namely Medic, immediately had locked himself into his laboratory and the Team as a whole had decided that hell would freeze over, before anyone of them would investigate the source of that purplish light radiating out of the infirmary's windows at night. Not even the runner would get bored enough to risk a peek.

Soldier was devoutly patrolling the ground, being convinced that the BLU Spy must have manipulated the respawn system to be able to catch them off guard and infiltrate their base. It was fine, he stayed out of everybodys hair (mostly), and seemed quite happy yelling bloody murder while smashing various cacti into a pulp with his shovel, because he had mistaken the flirring of the hot dessert air for a glitching disguise. 

Meanwhile Heavy, and also Pyro, had enjoyed their time in a more peaceful manner. Well, more or less. The Russian was splitting his attention between Sasha and a box full of books about the socio-philosophical classifications of modern russian opera, his sisters had sent him months ago. And Pyro - now feeling more comfortable around his teammates, had settled down onto the big kitchen table to openly work on a massive beast of a quilt. At least when he wasn’t indulging into another hobby of his…. There was a reason every damn room in the whole facility, including the quarters, had been equipped with extinguishers two weeks into the arsonist’s employment.  
Demo, with whom he had hoped to hang out more, actually had preferred to finish the work on his prototype for a new sort of sticky bomb launcher, before he thoroughly reorganised, aka diminished, his fine selection of even finer liqueur, which could have been fun to participate in, if Scout didn’t know how world endingly awful his hangover would be.  
So he himself had seized the opportunity to watch every shitty movie and sample every fatty fast food the theatre two towns over had to offer. He also had gotten in some batting practice, went for numerous runs, had talked with his mum on the phone for two hours, had bought ( and read!) a whole bunch of comic books and.. yeah. Now he was really bored alright? Especially because, to the surprise of exactly nobody, Sniper had decided to pack his camping gear and skedaddle off into the wild, which was insofar unfortunate, because the Bostonian was sure that he could convince the older one to go onto the shooting range with him. It would be _something_ worthwhile to do and Scout had run the indoor course too many times already.  
He could of course also try to think up a little, harmless prank for Spy, but, in true fashion of being an ass, the slippery bastard had vanished into thin air without saying a word to anybody as soon as the ceasefire was announced. Bets ranged from him visiting some Lady, to doing work for the Administrator, to just him hiding in his smoking room and avoiding everybody in favour of being a prick. 

Well, since work would start in the morning again, maybe it wasn't that bad to just laze around a little bit? So Scout grabbed a baseball to keep his hands busy and flung himself into the hammock, Engineer had put up just outside his garage. The young man was in the midst of trying to see how violently he could swing in it while still catching his ball, when Sniper came back from his trip into the desert. His clothes were coated in a healthy layer of dust, and he looked a bit tired, but also happy.

Scout immediately sat up “Yo, Snipes!” he called enthusiastically, “Back from ‘the woods’, old man? Did ya have fun out there?”  
The Australian slowed his walk down a tad, a small smile appearing on his lips.  
“Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit that I had originally planned to unleash a bit more drama and inner turmoil on these two characters. But when I finally found the time and started writing, I realized that I wanted to soften it down. I guess I just needed that myself at that moment ;)


	19. Where there is a will...

It slowly had started to get colder. Well, at least, a bit nippy - it was New Mexico after all.  
In the depths of winter, temperatures could drop a few degrees below freezing at night, but for now, most of the team simply threw on a slightly thicker jacket. Or in Heavys case, roll down his sleeves.  
  
Spy, feeling how the cold slowly crept up his body and under the layers of his suit, leaned against the wall near the base entrance. He had substituted his standart uniform with a cashmere scarf and wool lined gloves plus another undershirt, which all had been absolutely sufficient during working hours, but now he was wearing nothing of that, seeing that he did not need them _inside_ the base.  
No, he definitely had not planned on standing out here in the darkness, smoking the now eight cigarettes in a row. But he also had not predicted that today would be the day, that finally Scout would try and make them dinner, either. Long story short, the boy had intended to use the pressure cooker Engineer had tinkered with to maximise its proficiency, and while the runner had managed to put some food on the table, it also now decorated the walls, floor and ceiling too. Spy had quickly desided that he was in dire need of a smoke break, before somebody could notice him and fall under the idiotic assumption, that he too should join the efforts to get rid off that mess. Judging by the state of clean up when he had discovered the situation, he should not have to suffer this unpleasant situation for much longer.

While lighting yet another cigarette to chase the cold, scratching air out of his throat with the warm smoke filling his lungs, his eyes wandered, admittedly not for the first time while he was standing there, over to Sniper’s campervan. The mobile home of his friend laid in absolute darkness, and while this was not disconcerning per se, it still was a bit unusual for him to not be there at this time of day. Especially because he hadn’t come across him at base either.  
 _But the building is spacious, we most probably just missed each other_. Hm. What a peculiar phrase… missed each other.

He had gotten used to it by now. To the slight pain constructed out of a bitter mixture of guilt and regret, that had nestled itself somewhere deep in the back of his heart and mind. Most of the time, it was gracious enough to stay back behind the lines of consciousness, but every now and again, it leaped forward in a moment's notice. It had gotten worse in the weeks since their little trip, as Sniper had gotten more generous regarding casual physical contact.  
A clap on the shoulder after work, or an arm slung around his shoulder when celebrating a especially victorious week, was nothing out of the ordinary anymore. As was the fact that, when they were sitting in the small booth of Sniper’s camper, the Aussie did not care to stuff his lanky legs out of the way anymore, but sat comfortably, even if this meant that his feet rested against those of the other man.  
A sharp stream of tarinfused fog left the smokers mouth together with a light chuckle.  
But trust does that to a person. A trust Spy felt like betraying by not having the guts to speak up. The days of ‘nothing more’ were gone.   
  
He could not convince himself anymore, that it was just the simple desire for company or the fulfilment of a primal need. Not after all the time they had spent together. Not after what he had told him in confidence and not getting pitty, but only honest compassion in return.  
Spy had thought that it would get easier, after accepting the truth, but with each passing week, he felt more trapped between his wish to keep this cherished friendship intact - to preserve the status quo, and his selfish longing.  
His cigarette had burned out and the Frenchman flicked it onto the ground with a half bitter smile. What did it matter? He had carried a more severe pain with him over many years without breaking. Still holding onto some of it too, naturally. So what was a little lurching in the chest now and again, what was a sleepless night or two, if he could keep his confidant? He trotted out the remains of his nicotine fix, sharing a humourless laugh with the chilly night. _On fait des sottises à tout âge._

The main entrance door was pushed open with way more force than necessary, spilling out more light followed by an obviously irritated Sniper into the desert. As soon as the chilly nightair hit his face, the Aussie stopped in his tracks and took a deep breath, letting go of it in a sigh afterwards. His tense shoulders relaxed only slightly with the gesture and as he reflexively started to crack his knuckles, his otherwise steady hands still were subtly shaking with fading anger.  
  
“Also trying to forgo the kitchen clean up?”   
The unexpected voice startled the sharpshooter for just a split second, until he recognized its owner. He stumbled over his words, obviously ripped out of thought through the sudden question.  
“The kitchen Scout turned into a battlefield whilst cooking?” Spy clarified and gave Sniper enough context to hang onto.  
“Yeah nah..” the sharpshooter replied slowly, shaking his head. “Didn’t even know he had wrecked it.”  
“It is only superficial.” At least for the standards this kitchen already had endured. “ A lid embedded in the ceiling, and a lot of spilled food everywhere else.”  
Sniper only hummed in response.  
Spy waited for a few more moments before pushing himself off the wall, intending to ask what was wrong, when due to the temperature ultimately getting the better of him, a full body shiver visibly ran through his frame.  
“Merde, damn this weather!” he cursed, rubbing his hands together automatically.  
One could downright see the subtle shift in the sharpshooter's face, as another layer of emotions almost violently shifted over the agitation that till now had dominated his features.  
“For how long have you been standing here already?” he asked, frowning and with an audible amount of worry in his voice.  
“Thirty minutes maybe.” Spy gave back begrudgingly. “I will admit that I was overestimating our Team's abilities again - they should have long finished by now.” It was a weak attempt at a joke, which was effectively undermined by Spy now absentmindedly massaging his forearms. To be fair, he could just walk back into his quarters, but now it was a thing of pride.  
“Bloody… “ Shaking his head, Sniper turned around and started walking. “Come on. I'll brew you up some.” 

  
The light in Sniper’s mobile home flickered on with only a second or two of delay.  
He walked over to start up the little space heater that helped him keep his place warm till he inevitably would have to park his camper inside the garage for the coldest part of the year. But for now, in combination with the surprisingly well insulated walls and the day's sun, it was still enough to keep the van outside, like he preferred it to be.  
The former agent sat himself down in front of the heater and nonchalantly started to pull off his mask, an action that prompted his fellow professional to close the curtains immediately.  
“Guess I should get the coffee started then. Care that I irish up yours? Might help you to warm up.”  
Spy mused over that for a second . “I am pretty sure that you were also present during our good docteurs rant on this topic?”  
“Yeah, yeah… ‘Alcohol dilates the blood vessels, so more blood gets into the skin and the body loses heat even faster’, and so on and so forth...but I don’t think that will affect you much indoors, eh?”  
The European let out a chuckle: “So I guess that means I have to stay for a while?”   
Sniper shook his head, smiling: “Warning you right now, the booth is hell of uncomfortable to sleep in”, and set to work.

A good hour later, they both had worked their way through their second cup, and seeing that the next day was a saturday, they may or may not have been a little more generous with the whiskey. But different than any other time, conversation didn’t flow very well. Sniper tried to stay focused, but constantly drifted back into his own thoughts, unconsciously tuning out for minutes at a time, lost in his own head. Spy had first tried to find a topic that might distract the bushman and lighten up his mood, as he hoped that the other would directly ask for his advice if needed. But after Sniper not trying to bring up his frustrations, and more than one fruitless attempt to lighten the atmosphere, he decided to be frank instead: “You seemed quite agitated back at base. What happened?”

Sniper twitched together like a child that had been found with his hand in the cookie jar, but he knew better than to play dump with a good mate who just so happened to be a trained spy. So instead of denying that something had irritated him, he just shook his head.   
“I was, yeah. But it’s nothing to worry about.”  
The former agent only lifted an eyebrow at his friend.  
“It’s….” Sniper let out a sigh “.. only a phone call that got out of hand.”  
“Family trouble then?” There were really not many options with whom the Aussie might have spoken to on the phone. It also was reasonable enough regarding the time difference.  
A tired smile ghosted over Sniper's face. “As always.”  
“I am all ears, if you want?”  
The marksman went stiff for a second, obviously struggling with himself in deciding, if he really wanted to pick at these specific wounds at the moment.  
“There is… nothing you could help me with. It would just be me ranting pointlessly, and that's no good way to spend a friday night.”  
“And ‘moping around’, the whole evening is any better?”  
The tall mercenary rubbed a hand over his neck, letting out an almost inaudible sigh. “It’s not even that complicated, honestly. Just attached to a long story.”  
“We have time till monday morning”, Spy smiled. “Longer, if you want me to sabotage respawn again. It would only be fair if I did that for your sake too, non?”  
That drew a chuckle out of the bushman. His hand fell down to the table again, and his gaze on the spy's face. He moved to fill his own cup, this time forgoing the coffee for straight whiskey.   
  
“You already know that the relationship between my parents and I is ... strained?”   
“Oui.” Of course he remembered their conversation.  
“And that they refuse to accept my help and once almost lost everything because of it?”  
A nod from the European.  
“Well…” Sniper took a good swig from his mug. “Make that twice now.”  
“They ran into money problems again?”  
“Course they did. My parents are getting old, they can’t keep up with the farm and have had to let go off a lot of the sheep and side businesses connected to them long ago. Everything except for the house is desolate at this point.”  
Anger started to rise in the former hunter again even quicker than he himself had anticipated. “On top of that, mum has had it bad with her bones for a few years now. Breaks them when you only look at them funny. We do have a good health care system in place back home, but that does not change the fact that she could do with some extra help around the house, which they cannot afford, and I know that my dad won’t do any woman's work.” He drew his eyebrows together in frustration, mouth only a hard line when he paused his speak to empty his drink.  
“They of course don’t tell me about it, and my visits are rare ... but I am ot blind or dump, and I do have at least one friend left in Oz who isn't shy of telling me if I ask him. Fortunately, because even if I confront them straight on, they will lie in my face. ” Sniper was now tapping his fingers against the table.  
“I got a letter from said friend a few weeks back to my PO-Box. Apparently it has gotten so bad that my dad was trying to sell most of the land except for the house and a few measly acres around it. Could not believe it at first. Honestly would have bet that he would rather shoot himself than doing that. But apparently that was still better than asking his own son for money.”  
He pushed himself off his seat and started to pace up and down in front of the table, way too fired up to sit still anymore. His voice had gone louder and his words rushed together the more heated he got. Which was, considering we were talking about Sniper here, a pretty unsettling sight. “At that point, I could not think of anything different to do than hiring a middleman, wiring him the money and buying the damn land myself. And because I was so fed up with them willingly putting off my help and ignoring my advice, that I was petty enough to put my real name onto the contract. Letting them now afterwards, that I was the one saving their skin again.”  
“Am I right in assuming that they did not take this well?” Spy dared to interject, earning a huffed laugh from his friend in return.  
“Oh, my dad was _livid._ He instantly tried to annul the contract, but had no chance in hell to get that through, and since he has no way to reach me, he was left stewing in his anger for a good while till I decided that I could put up with him.”  
“And that was today”, the suit wearing mercenary concluded.  
Sniper put his cup aside with a hearty thud. “He was shouting at me for almost half an hour before I even could get a bloody word in. Called me everything from a disgrace to the family, to a psychopath. Even came up with a few new insults for good measure. He _demanded_ that I sell him back the land and when I refused, he straight up told me that in that case, I was not allowed to set foot on his property ever again, or ‘ he would give me a taste of my own medicine’ as he put it. That was the point where I heard mum trying to jank the phone from him. Don't know if she managed to do so, I just hung up.” 

Sniper was still pacing like a trapped animal, his hands had started to shake again. “The irony is, I never intended to keep it, planned to just … gift it back to them in time. Thought they would be grateful for once. I ….” he came to a stop, clutching at the countertop next to him with both hands as if to steady himself. Or to not grab something at random to throw through the room.  
Spy stood up slowly. “Do you think he would actually make good on his promise? Shooting his own son?”   
A shrug from the Aussie anticipated the answer. “I...guess not.”   
“You _guess_ not?”  
The tall man's shoulders sunk into themselves.  
“You did not hear him, mate. That moment, if I was truly there, he might have.”

A sudden silence flooded the room, save for the steady humming of the space heater. The former agent stood there almost a little lost, studying his friends back while contemplating.  
Wouldn’t it be almost poetic? A nice symmetry in life, if he would be able to help him solve this year old mess regarding his family - to bring them closure.  
 _I am afraid you were right._ _  
_Yes, it would be a real nice story, if he blew up respawn again, grabbed Sniper, hopped with him on a flight to ‘down under’ and just talked it out with his stubborn father. But...  
 _There truly is not much I can do.  
_ … all this was so far off from realistic, that he could not even start to convince himself that it would work out so easily. A spy was not what was needed here. And as a man alone... Years and years of constant damage had culminated into something that one person could not fix with a single, well intended conversation over a cup of tea.  
Spy bridged the space between them by planting a firm hand on the other's shoulder.  
“Any idea what you want to do?”

The Aussies shoulder sunk even deeper under the warm hand. As always, his rage had subsided into a feeling of familiar frustration fast enough. “Nah.” he forced himself to straighten up a little. “Might try to call in a few weeks, talk with my mum.” He turned around halfway to look at his friend, whose fingers slid down his arm with the motion, finding a resting place just below the elbow.  
Despite all, it was comforting to have someone with him now. Or better said, him.  
“But I don’t know if it's even worth it anymore. We have been fighting the same fight for over ten years now, it’s tiring. There was more than one time where I though, fuck it, and turned my back. But I always caved eventually. Sometimes after a few weeks, sometimes closer to a year. Called, wrote a postcard or showed up again. Don’t know why I still do this to myself…. ”

There was another beat of silence. The room was pleasantly warm by now, the light from the small lamp above the seating area was casting not too harsh of a light, and the constant humming of the radiator in the background had something almost soothing to it.  
Spy shifted in his stance, getting just half a step closer without actively noticing himself.  
“Hm. Feelings of love, in any form, are truly a pesky thing. Therefore, giving up one once family cannot be an easy task.”  
A husky chuckle escaped the marksman as he fully turned around, not minding that his fingers now looseley intertwined with the ones of his friend, like it was the most natural conclusion of the motion. “Yeah, drives one half insane. But there is no helping it, eye?”  
Spy nodded. His mouth had gotten dry, while he tried his best to keep his thoughts at the problem at hand. But some part of him could not get over the fact, of how intimate the situation suddenly had become. Of how close they were standing. How quiet both of their voices had gone. And, worst of all, the feeling of Sniper’s calloused fingers resting between his own. It was enough to send his heart thumping like he was a goddamn teenager again. Not a long grown man who had earned his money as an agent and a mercenary. Putting his life on the line for his country, for information, or just the highest bidder. He, who killed people without a second thought, had to rely on his training, designed to keep him calm in high-stress situations, to not visibly start to get shaky knees in front of his coworker. Something that closely approached the point of ‘impossible’, as Sniper wordlessly lifted his free hand to warmly lay it on the suit wearing man's shoulder. It was only an expression of thanks. It had to be.

They looked at each other for an amount of time that could be seconds, or half an hour.  
Spy did not dare to take another step, to close the distance completely, but he leaned forward as if to shift his weight again, only to feel how the Aussies hand almost shyly started to glide down his back for a few centimeters, coming to a halt on his shoulder blade. He moved again, and Snipers fingers graced deeper to the arch of his back. And that was all he could take. Spy nothing short of leaped forward.

As their bodies connected a little more forcefully than might have been ideal, for Spy - first feeling his teammates warm breath, and then his slightly chapped lips against his own - time suddenly stopped. And not in the sappy, crony way romantic songs liked to use the phrase.  
He could clearly sense how Sniper immediately had gone rigid under his touch. Feel how, whitin only seconds, the others fingers on him first twitched, then moved way faster than he would ever thought the marksman being able too, and finally clamping themself around Spys upper arms with an iron grip. The former agent's body reacted automatically, bracing for some kind of impact, but his mind blocked him from actively doing more, as a cold feeling settled in his guts. He opened his eyes, but lacked the strength to lift them. He could hear the sharpshooter letting out a lungful of air, his fingers flexing again. However, the shove or hit Spy was expecting to follow, never came. He was pushed a little way back, yes, but in a surprisingly gentle way.   
“I’m sorry mate. I just… can't do this… it’s...” The marksman stumbled through his words, eyes flitting from the others lips to his eyes then down to the floor. Something his fellow assassin could not see, since he himself had chosen to stare at the floor instead.  
The coldness in Spy’s stomach started to roar up, striking up at his ribcage with icy claws. The dessert night outside seemed like a mothers hug in comparison.  
He wanted to tell his teammate how ashamed of himself he was, giving in to his desires when the other just needed a friendly shoulder to lean on. He wanted to sincerely apologize, communicate that he understood that he had to go now. That Sniper was righteously mad at him.  
But, despite him knowing exactly what was the right thing to do, his brain and tongue decided to foil him.  
His thoughts were just an entangled mess of english and french and all he could get out was a “I understand.” Together with the most forced smile he ever had to muster up. “I know you would never…”  
He finally found it in him to lift his eyes, finding Sniper staring at his face with an expression he never had seen him wear before. Regret? Pity?  
A feeling like electricity wiped up the frenchmans spine. Non. Non! Absolutely not! He refused to sink so low. Spy all of a sudden tried to move back like a trapped animal in a hunter's sling. He could not stand the others hands on him for a second longer.  
The Aussie involuntarily corrected his grip at Spy’s pulling. “What the hell are you talking about?”   
Now it was the Frenchman who felt anger rising in him, mostly at himself, which did not change much regarding the feeling in general. He put more of his weight in his effort to break free, not wanting to start a straight up fight, but absolutely intending to flee.  
“That you would never fall for another man!” he blurted out “That I am an imbecile for even considering you could! That I...”  
“How the hell do you know I can’t, you mongrel?!” Sniper interrupted his friends rambling, causing his trashing to subside. Eyes going wide and lips parting in a way that perfectly summarized a baffled ‘WHAT?’ without needing to make a single sound.  
“I.. am… ehh...I actually don’t have a preference. Regarding gender, I mean.” Sniper stated a little awkwardly at the other's reaction. “Sheilas, blokes… did not bother me as far as I can think back. Just liked who I liked.”

Spy sunk into himself, and into the other's touch as a result of that. “So it’s not me being a man… It is me as a person”, he stated coldly.  
“Wha… No! It’s you beeing my fucking colleague!”  
The former agent just stared at the other. Emotionally wrung dry, he let out an irritated grunt that carried a good junk of frustration and disbelief. He resolutely shoved the others hands off him. “Fait chier! You _can’t_ be serious?”  
“Spy, we have to work with each other almost every day for years to come....”  
“And you don’t want to threaten our professional behaviour over some worthless fling that might end in a few weeks or so? Is that your concern?” the former agent interrupted heatetly.  
“Already told you that I don’t do flings anymore…” Sniper grumpled.  
“So what exactly are you saying?” there was something demanding in Spy’s voice, something so obviously hurt that the other flinched back bodily.  
“I am saying that… that I can somehow manage to see you get hurt and die on a daily basis as a friend. But I don’t know what that job will do to us if we… “ he broke off, shook his head. “Spy, this is just no good idea. It’s… impossible to work out.”  
  
Spy cocked his head, estimating. “There is a nice saying in my native language….”  
Confusion spread over Sniper's face, which quickly got replaced by surprise as the european stepped closer with a cocksure smile on his lips.  
“Impossible n’est pas français…” He grazed his fingers over the others chest, then shoulders. Giving him a tug that brought their bodys back together way more pleasantly than before.  
He buried his right into the hair reaching Sniper's neck and stretched up that last cruisal centimetre.   
And this time, he did not get rejected. Not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I wrote and rewrote this chapter more times than I like to admit. Am I satisfied with the result? Yeah… nah.  
> But after altering this part of the story so many times, I realised that I will either never post it at all, or have to “settle” on the one draft I felt best about. Revolutionary, I know. But I sincerely hope I didn’t let anyone down!
> 
> I also cut roughly one page of ‘spice’ at the end, because it seriously messed with the flow in my opinion. But since this part actually turned out better than I had anticipated…. I guess I have to “recycle” it in a one shot later on ;)


	20. ...there is a way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update again, but I am working on a rather demanding project at the moment. Just know that I am not gone ;)

Sniper has always been a light sleeper. An annoyance of his youth that proved itself a hidden blessing, as soon as he had started to pick up contracts. Over time, his camper had become a place of safety, a little spot where he not only was able to fall asleep easily, but deeply. Somewhere he could truly rest. He knew all the little noises, his mobile home made, by heart. The crackling of cooling down metal after a hot summer's day, the hollow tapping sound of the small flow heater under the sink, the creaking of his mattress. Nothing of it was usually able to startle him awake anymore. And still, the last one of those had done it tonight, most possibly because it had been accompanied by an unconscious movement of the sleeping person next to him.

The sun wasn’t up yet and the interior of his dwelling laid in that comfortable sort of darkness, where one could still identify rough shapes and forms in the shadows without overstraining the eyes. Up in his bed, it was even easier, thanks to the skylight and his alarm clock, which was emitting a soft, greenish light. But the marksman had not truly needed this extra advantage to notice, even in those few short seconds between waking up and full consciousness where once mind is still sluggish and fuzzy, that Spy had not left.  
His warm body laid flush with his own side and a relaxed arm was draped around his chest, half covered by the sheets that already had preserved the scent of his cologne for hours to come. Sniper carefully moved his arm, the one that was curled around the Frenchmans shoulder, and a prickling sensation told him that he had held this position a little longer than his nerves were fond of. Nonetheless he did not stirr too much, not wanting to wake his … well….

Memories of the last hours flooded the Aussies mind in flashes of sounds, smells, and sensations of touch. The cocksure smile on the other's face. Thin, yet unfairly soft and warm lips against his own. Fingers tangling in his hair, pulling just enough to send his mind spinning, Spy’s scent flooding his head like a tidal wave. A firm body against his own. Skillful hands gliding down to carefully but efficiently navigate their way over his back and chest, sending shivers up his spine when finally sneaking under the last layer of clothing covering his rapidly heating skin, prompting him to react instinctively, syncing their movements, like a dance he knew by heart.   
Then this one crucial second of clearness, as his back was hitting the rungs of his bunk, where he knew that he had lost, could not turn back anymore. The warm feeling of a grin, spreading over his face, as he took over the reins for the moment, wringing the first moan of the night out of the former agent.

To be fair, it was not like he hadn’t thought about it. Spy was an interesting individual. Someone he trusted. Intelligent, witty, passionate by nature and easy to look at. So _very_ easy to look at. And... a friend.  
The Aussie had been aware that he was making a mistake when he had given into his own carefully buried longings when grazing his hand down Spys back. A knowledge that just amplified the shock running threw his system when the other responded in such an earnest way. Kissing him not in a playful manner in the spur of the moment, but almost despradly. It had frightened the living daylight out of the marksman for a second. He had recognized that this had been the point, where they might still turn back safely. And he had tried. But Spy had managed to wipe away all of his rational thinking, beginning with a simple smile and a few words he hadn’t even understood.   
Slowly, the marksman leaned a bit away to catch a glimpse at the resting form of his bedfellow. He watched as Spy’s chest rose and fell with each deep breath he took. He looked so bloody peaceful. Hair a complete mess, face relaxed and free from any worry - it all made him look much younger than usual. Normal. Happy. Sniper’s head found back onto the crunched up pillow.  
Christ alive, what had he gotten himself into?

“You are pondering again.”  
The sharpshooter whipped his head around and found himself almost face to face with the European, who had lifted himself up a bit. His eyes were still half closed and his lips wore a lazy grin that matched perfectly with the low tone of his sleeplaiden voice. Sniper found it hard to fight down a smile, as he sank back onto the mattress.  
“Course there’s a lot to think about.”  
Spy shifted and propped himself up on his own elbow, letting a gush of cooler air invade the heated up space underneath the blanket. “About what we want to eat in the morning, or who of our dear colleagues might crack our skulls if finding out about us sharing a night?”  
The Aussie furrowed his brows, turning the statement over in his head a few times.  
Funny enough, he actually had not worried about the other REDs taking offence. Not yet. “You think they would?”  
The spies answer came unsurprisingly fast. “Non. All in all, I am under the impression that they would not care much about what we do quietly in our free time, as long as we don’t flaunt our involvement right in front of them at the dinner table.”  
“Even Soldier?”  
Spy shrugged lightly. “That man has actually seen war, believe me or not. And while he has left a lot of his sanity on the battle ground, he knows what goes on in the trenches when men, stripped of the comfort and security of home and loved ones, get caught up in loneliness. I don’t say he understands or would be supportive, but at least he would turn a blind eye.”  
Sniper nodded slowly, but did not say anything more. The suit loving mercenary shifted again, lifting his arm from the others chest so he could use his free hand to adjust first the blanket and then his own hair. “What is keeping you up then?”  
The hunter looked up at his friend, whose expression was still holding some of that softness sleep had given him. His accent was different than usual too. Not necessarily thicker, but rounder and less punctuated. To be honest, the sharpshooter had suspected for a while now that Spy was playing it up a little in front of the others, to further a certain kind of image, maybe. He had slipped up once or twice already when talking only to him.  
Sniper lifted his hand up to the European’s face: “Just trying to figure out where this is heading, I guess.” Without even realizing it himself, he tamed back a loose strand of hair behind the others ear.  
Spy melted a bit at the tender gesture, but it faltered under the underlying implication he thought of hearing in the Aussie’s words. The former agent had not forgotten what he had said mere hours ago.  
“So you still think it’s impossible to work out? Or simply not worth the try?”

Internally, Sniper winced about that, but managed to keep it away from his expression as he fixed his eyes firmly on the skylight above them. “You tell me.”  
Spy snorted out a sound that could only be interpretet as something along the lines of ‘are you fucking kidding me?’ and let himself fall flat on his back next to the other man, which meant that they were filling out the whole of the small mattress with ease. “Why should it not?” The mercenary's voice slowly started to take on the same colouration of anger and frustration like he already had felt once tonight.  
“I assume you would want to keep whatever arrangement we find quiet?” He also felt the same sort of wiped out tiredness creep up again too. “I am an agent of espionage and you possess a poker face like I rarely have seen before. No problem there, non?”  
He had ridden this goddamn roller coaster called ‘human emotions’ too often in the last few months, as to be keen on going yet another round right now. Not even for Sniper. “So if you want me out of your bed and your life… Say it now. I know where the door is.“  
This time, the marksman wasn’t able to hide his emotions, as his face scrunched up in a way normally only seen when he jammed his thumb in the reload mechanism of his gun. Only that the short, sharp pain was located somewhere very different right now. He dragged a hand over his face as if to wipe the evidence of his feelings away.  
“I do care, Spy.” _Maybe even a little too much. What we started to have as friends might survive this contract. Possibly even last afterwards._ “But a bloody relationship?” He hadn’t been in a proper one since.. god, better not to think about the amount of years now.   
Sniper exhaled loudly: “Come on mate, I would be a shite partner anyway.” It sounded like a confession he not only made towards the other man. “Could probably never hold up to your standards. Even in this shithole dessert.” The taller one felt the shift in the mattress before he could see the other’s movement in the corner of his eye.  
“Standards, oui?” Spy was sitting up as far as the near roof over his head allowed him to do comfortably, giving his back to the sharpshooter, whose eyes immediately wandered to the long, curved scar his fingers had found at their thorough exploration not so long ago. “Well, a man that can’t be self-sufficient is off the table. He absolutely must be trustworthy, best he would share my occupation in a way.”  
Sniper lifted an eyebrow at the sudden change in tone. It was… mechanical and aloof, but only on the surface,...   
“A sort of humour that fits with mine would be appreciated.”  
... but there was obviously something else hiding under that.   
“Someone capable, a man that survived in his field for years and somehow still has enough humanity left in him to give a bratty young teammate of his a hug when he cumbles, ...”  
Sniper hoisted himself up, reaching out a hand that froze with what he heard next.  
“... and I would absolutely not settle for anything less than a man who would willingly risk his reputation and career, no, his very life for a friend, without even knowing for what reason.” Spy turned around, a half bitter smile on his face. “So yes, I do have high standards indeed. And unfortunately, it seems like a dense bushman is the one fulfilling all of them.”  
Lost for words, the Aussie just sat there, with his hand still half in the air.   
“You have your doubts, c'est logique,” the former agent reached out and took it, “but if everything goes wrong….. you still can just put a mark on my head, non? Problem solved.”

The hunter's mouth fell open, and then he laughed. Deep and freeing. “Bloody hell mate.”  
Spy was smiling too, shaking his head lightly, till Sniper changed the grip of his hand and pulled him close with one fluent movement. He let go of his hand just to lay his fingers at the side of the spy’s face, half buried in his hair.  
“As if I would ever find someone who could get a clean shot at you.”  
Spy leaned into the touch. His smile changing into a challenging grin as he snaked his arms around the Aussies neck. “In that case I guess you are doomed to stay with me for a while.”  
“Yeah, seems like no choice at all.”   
“Did I mention that my standards are also much in favor of men that are taller than me and sport a charmingly rugged look?”  
“Not that I remember.”  
“Ah … good.”  
Sniper brought his second arm forward to curl it around the others back. The one he had used till now to hold their weight up. Both fell back in a mess of limps, tangled up in the blanked, laughing like much younger men, until the melody of their sounds changed again.  
  


Soon the sun started to rise and the base came back to life, as the mercenaries of RED slowly started to filter into the kitchen to get their share of the stack of pancakes, Engie had gotten into the habbid of whipping up most Saturdays. Demo, nursing only a tinsy hangover, was one of the last to show up. Still half asleep, he piled one pancake after the other onto his plate, till his fork was fenced away by a fast wielded spatula.  
“Easy there partner. Leave some for the rest.” With an unfocused eye, the Scot turned around to only see Heavy going to town on his own, frankly enormous, portion and Scout furiously scrubbing away on a syrup drenched plate. “Stretch hasn’t shown up yet, neither did Spy.” the Texan explained, making a shooing motion with his hand to save the meager rest in some rinsed out takeaway container. He pulled out a marker from one of the many pockets of his overall and hastily labeled them with the class symbols of the missing teammates. It wasn’t unusual for Sniper to miss a meal, but Spy might be showing up soon and seeing that the two somehow got along quite well, he might be kind enough to bring the Aussie his portion too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, now there is only one more chapter left to bring the main part of this little story to an end. An epilogue if you will. And then there is this huge document sitting on my computer, full with scenes I had to cut for the sake of pacing and little ideas that did not fit into the main plot. So i guess this will come next. My other multi-chapter project has to remain on ice though. There is simply not enough time for both and writing about these two (and their surroundings) brings me more happiness at the moment.


End file.
